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"These little books are valuable mines of literary treasure, 
diminutive but delightful, and with their aid no idle half-hour need 
prove unwelcome or unprofitable." — Boston Courier. 

" It is surprising to find how very rich the selections are from the 
best poets of all lands. Each volume is a choice repertory of the 
finest poems in the language." — S'<'«/Afr« Quarterly. 


Poems of Places 



It is the Soul that sees; the outward eyes 
Present the object, but the Mind descries. 







Copyright, 1878. 
By henry W. LONGFELLOW. 




To \ l>i>r.-Tftn 

J. l: 


MoCXT KE-iR^lRUK . . . 

The K»:>SKDr.r 


Tue Birds ur KiixixcnuRTU . . . 



Tub Bclls or Lrs.x. 
Iliuii Rock .... 

SKii'i'ER Ire>o\"s Ride 
A !'■ ^ ' ' 'D>r . . . 

Til br Parsox Avery 

Bv ;:b 

CAPr.\i.\ .MoKKow's Thaxk-MJivino . 
The Fire op Diurr-WooD . . . 

Weiister .... 

The lir.LLS of Edg.vrtown . 

A Sea-Side Idvl 
The lloisE op Youth . . 


•r .. (■- ..- _„£ L.1KE . . 

J. O. H'hitlirr . . It; 

//. If. Lnn-j/vllow . 18 
E. F. Merrill ... 19 

J. C. Whittier. . . 21 

('. y. r.ronks . . . 'iii 

J. <;. KlilHlrr. . . 27 

J. ir. riuulicirk . . 30 

/-. K. JUirr .... 32 

//. ir. Longfellow . 34 

ir. //. C Hosmer. . 33 

E. .V. Gunnison . . 37 

K. Siryhlrinl . . . 3S 



A Lay of Memimiremagog L. S. Goodwin . . 46 


The Merrimac J. G. WhitUcr . . 49 

The Merrimac Revisited " . . 53 

Our River " ... £0 


Paul Revere's Ride //. W. Loncj/cUow . 58 


Sunday on the Hill-Top W. C. Gannett . . 63 


Minot's Ledge F. J. 0''Brien . . 65 


MONADNOCK 11. W. Emerson . . 67 

MoNADNOCK W. B. 0. rmhinhi . 72 


A Sei'temder Evening ox the Banks of 
THE MosHASsucK S. H. Whitman . . 74 


Echo Notch Anonymovs ... 76 

Green Mountain J. JVcii^a .... 77 

Great Head " .... 78 


King Philip Anonymous ... 80 

Mount Hope J. W. Eastlmrn . . 81 

Mount Hope W. A. Crofful ... 83 


Mount Pleasant R. Sanhoni . . . 85 


Palingenesis //. W. Longfellow . 87 

Wetmore Cottage IT. IT. Story ... 89 

Agassiz II. W. Lowjfelbm . 91 


Nantasket M. Clemmer ... 91 


A Song of Nantucket E. N. Gvnnison . . 95 


Narragansktt Bay J. W. Eastbitrn . . 96 

In Narrag.vnsett CacRcnyARD . . . . E. V. Carpenter . . 98 


NASiiiA, tup: rivki:, n. ii. 



Eliot's Okk .... .... 


The I)ci;i'i,e IlE.M>t:i> .--v \m hk Newbury 
Tick IMio- ikv ok Svmj.l Skw.vll. . . 
The «)i.i> Ki,m of Newui iiv 

The l'RE\riir.R ... 


The Gii.iv.; of Ch.vmpernowne .... 

The Ucrvixg (»Roi xd . 
The I'.ivntom Ship . . 


New Ia).m>ox 

Plowpex II.vlsev 

The I'.vPT.viv 


Ths Sxeleton IX Armor .... 

A Xevport Uom.\x<.e 

The Komaxce of \ Rout .... 
The .lEWiSH Cemeterv .vt Xewport 
The riR.vv Cuff at Xewpokt 
The Cliff-s at Xewport 
Thz Quaker Alcmxi . 


Olp Xorripge>vo( k 

At XoRRinr.EAorK 




NOR^ncn, coxN. 

The Ixlaxd Cirr 

n. Duires . . . 

. 101 

II. W. Lonrj/dloxr 

. 102 

./. r.. Ultittier . 

. 103 


. kh; 

//. F. (nndd . 

. 110 

■ f. a. U'hlltifr . 

. 113 

J. Kbr,ia . . . 

. iiii 

.V. L. Froth inijham 116 
//. n: Longfellow . 117 

F. M. Caulkins . . 111» 
C. F. Orue . . . 120 
J. O. C. Druluurd . 123 

//. If. Lnnfjfdlov; . 125 

/; llnrte .... 130 

-V. Vrrnj .... i;33 

II. If. Lnu'ifdlou' . 135 

ir. C. Donne. . . 139 
n. Dnnn . . .140 

./. G. WhUtier . . 140 

Anonymous . . . 141 
J. G. U'lntticr . . 143 

If. T. Tuckennan . 144 
E. C. Stedman . . 145 


Ox THE IlrLI.S .... 


The River Otter . . 

. . 148 
J. G. Whitticr . . 150 
./. I'. II. Dorr . . 151 



Parker River . . 


pAWTUfKET Falls 


God's Acre at Old PEMAicm . . . 

My Molxtaln 

//. Henderson 
J. Dnrfcc . . 
Anonymous . 
L. Larcom 


The Pkvver of Agassiz . . . 


I'E.NOiiseoT Bay 



The Phantom City .... 

J. 0. U'hlfticr 
T. (;. Appldon 

J. G. Whitticr 


PiscATAyuA River 


The Old Clock o\ the Stair.^ . 

I\.sii>E Pll.m Island 


The Pilori.m Fathers 

The Landing of the Pilgrim F.^ther 
IN New England 

An Interview with Miles Standish . 

The Mavfi.owirs . . 

Elder FAtNci: at Plvmodth Rock 

Death or Hawthorne 


Mv Lost Youth 


Fessexden's Garden 


Amy AVENTWomii 

Lady AVentworth 


Roger V»'illiams 

F. L. Mace 
T. R Aklrich . 
II. H". Loufj/rllou 
II. P. Siwfford . 

J. P'lerpont 

F. Ilcmaiis . 
J. IL Lon-cll . 
J. n. Whitticr 
C. F. Ornc . 

A. Fields . 

II. ir. Loufifdlow 
K. A. Alkn . . 

J. a. Whlttier . 
II. M'. LoufjfcUnv 

S. II. Mliitman 

. 152 

. 155 

. 156 

. 157 

. 160 
. 164 

. 165 

. 168 
. 173 

. 175 

. 176 

. 179 

. 184 

. 1S5 

. 187 

. 193 

. 194 

. l'J7 

. T.)8 
. 2(il 
. 202 

. 2f'3 
. 206 

. 212 


PROVIDEXCE, K. I. {contin,n.n 

OfiLD's Signal . . [:_ n„rte 

A November L-ixostapk >. //. irhitman. 

To THE U'e.4Thercock on ot k Steei'Le . .1. tj. (irceuc 


A Meditatiox ox Rhode Island Coal . H'. C. Bn/unt 

VoirES OF T!iE Ska j; Dur/n- . 


TuE River Saco . . . r r;. Lfions 

The Falls of the Saco / <;. U'liiftUr 

Saco Falls ; j- ;.-,>/,/, 

The Saco j ,;. irhiitwr . 


SvLEM WrrcHCRAtT . . //. u: Longfellow 

^^'•EM . ir. If. Stonj . . 


Sal-Mon River j ,; c. Branuud 


Bride Brook . . . . C. P. Uithrop . 


The Old Oakex Bucket s. Wooilworth 

^^^'■' a.Lnnt . . . 


Nightfall ox the Seacoxxet Shore . . S 11 Uliitman 

Storm ox Saugonxet G. S. liurhvjh . 


Flneral-Tree of the Sokokis . . . . J. a. Whittler 

The Letter of Mar\jue C. F. Onw 


^^■«« ^^'^"^•^ //. ir. Lonofdloxc 


The Arsenal .\t Sprixgfieu) .... 

The Watside Ixx 

wachusett, the mountain, mass. 

AVaciu SKTT jQ uiiitdcr . 

To Wachlsctt //. ^. Thorcnu . 


. 2V, 


. 22r> 

. 22(j 
. 227 

. 2*28 

. 229 
. 231 

. 2.-U 

. 23G 

. 2.33 
. 240 

. 242 
. 24.3 

. 24G 

. 24S 

. 2.51 

. 2.5.3 





liK.vvtii Brook J- -i^- Lowell ... 260 


The White Mountains J- Cr. Uliitticr . . 262 

Among the Hills " • • 264 

The Old Man of the Mountain . . . /. T. Trowbridge . 266 

In a Cloud Rift L. Larcom .... 270 

Chocorua " .... 272 

Clouds on Whitefack " .... 273 

B.\ld-Cap Revisited J- W. ChaOwick. . 273 

Lake of the Cloud.s, Mt. Washington . H. Henderson . . 275 


SuM.MER BY THE Lakeside J. G. niiittier . . 278 

At Alton Bay H. Butterworth . . 282 

At AViNNiHESAUKEE L. LurcoDi ... 284 


Fr.OM WooNsoCKET Hill J. L. Osborne. . . 285 


Agamenticos Anonymous . . . 287 



Katahdin, the Jloioitaifi, J/c. 


FAR up oil Katalicliii tliou towcrcst. 
Purple-blue with tiie distance and vast; 
Like a cloud o'er the lowlauds thou lowcrcst, 
That hangs poised on a lull in the blast, 
To its fall Icaniug awful. 

In the storm, like a prophet o'ermaddoncd, 
Thou singest and tossest thy branches ; 

Thy heart with the terror is gladdened, 
Thou forebodest the dread avalanches, 

"\Mien whole mountains swoop valeward. 

In the calm thou o'erstrctchest the valleys 
With thine arms, as if blessings imploring. 

Like an old king led fortli from his palace, 
When his people to battle are pouring 
From the city beneath him. 


To the slunibcrcr ask-cp 'iicatli thy glooming 
Tliou dost sing of wikl bilhnvs in motion, 

Till he longs to be swung mid their booming « 
In the tents of the Arabs of ocean, 

Whose finiicd isles are their eattle. 

For the gale snatches thee for his lyre, 
AVith mad hand crashing mch)dy frantic, 

AVIiile he pours forth his mighty desire 
To leap down on the eager Atlantic, 

Whose lU'uis stretch to his playmate. 

The wild storm makes his kiir in thy branches, 
Preying thence on the couthient under; 

Like a lion, crouched close on his haunches. 
There awaitetli his leap the lierce thunder, 
Growling low with imi)atiencc. 

Spite of winter, thou kcc])'st thy green glory, 
Lusty father of Titans past number ! 

The snow-flakes alone make thee hoary, 
Nestling close to thy braiu-hes in slumber, 
iViul thee mantling with silence. 

Thou alone know'st the splendor of winter, 
Mid thy snow-silvered. Inished i)rccii)ices, 

Hearing cnigs of green ice groan and sjdinter, 
And then plunge down the muflled abysses 
In the (piict of midnight. 

Thou alone know'st the glory of summer, 
Gazhig down on thy broad seas of forest, 


On tlij subjects that seud a proud uiurniur 
Up to thee, to their sachem, who towerest 
From thy bleak throne to heaven. 

James Russell Loicell. 

Kearsarge, the Mountain^ N. H. 


Keaksaege, the mountain wbicb gave its name to the ship that sank 
the Alabama, is a noble granite peak in Merrimack County, Aew Hamj)- 
shii-e, rising alone, more than two thousand feet above the sea. 

On, lift thy head, thou mountain lone, 
And mate thee with the sun ! 
Thy rosy clouds are Tale ward blown, 
Thy stars that near at midnight ehone- 

Gone heavenward one by one. 
And half of earth, and half of air, 
Tliou risest vast, and gray, and bare, 

And croM^lcd with glory. Far southwest 

Monadnock sinks to see, — 
For all its trees and towering crest. 
And clear Contoocook from its breast 

Poured down for wood and lea, — 
How statelier still, through frost and dew. 
Thy granite cleaves the distant blue. ^ 

And high to north, from fainter sky, 
Franconia's cliffs look down ; 


IIoiiu' to their crags tlic eagles fly, 
Deep ill their caves the eclioes die, 

Tlie s[)arkliiig waters frown, 
And tlie Great Face tliat guards the glen 

Pales with the pride of mortal men. 

Nav, from their silent, crystal scat 
The White Hills scan the plain; 

Nor Saco's leaping, lightsome feet, 

Nor Aminonoosuc wild to greet 
The meadows and the main, 

Nor snows nor thunders can atone 

For sjilendor thou hast made thine own. 

For thou hast joined the immortal band 
Of hills and streams and plains. 

Shrined in the songs of native land, — 

Linked with the deeds of valor grand 
Told when the bright day wanes, — 

Part of the nation's life art thou, 

mountain of the granite brow ! 

Not Pelion when the Argo rose, 

Grace of its goodliest trees ; 
Nor Norway hills when woodman's blows 
Their pines sent crashing through the snows 

That kings might rove the seas; 
Nor heights that gave the Armada's line. 
Thrilled with a joy as pure as thine. 

Bold was the ship thy name that bore; 
Strcnfrtli nf tlu- hills was hers; 


Heart of the oaks thy pastures store, 
The pines that hear the north-wind roar, 

Tlie dark and tapering firs ; 
Nor Argonaut nor Viking knew 
Sublimer daring than her crew. 

And long as Freedom fires the soul 

Or mountains pierce the air, 
Her fame shall shine on honor's scroll; 
Thy brow sliall be the pilgrim's goal 

UpUfted l)road and fair; 
And, from tiiy skies, inspiring gales 
O'er future seas shall sweep our sails. 

Still summer keep thy pastures green. 

And clothe tliy oaks and pines ; 
Brgoks laugh thy rifted rocks between; 
Snows fall serenely o'er the scene 

And veil thy lofty lines ; 
While crowned and peerless thou dost stand. 
The monarch of our mountain-land. 

Edna Bean Proctor. 

Kennehec, the Ewer, Me. 


THERE is a hill o'erlooking Norridgewock 
Whose summit is a crown of mossy rock, | ' 
Whereon the davhght Kngers ere it dies, I ^ 


Wliou tlic broad valley in the gloaming lies. 
Around yon arc the everlasting hills, 
Whose presence all your soul with worship fdls. 
The distant mountains, purple elad, are grouped 
Like monarehs, when the golden sun has stooped 
Down toward his journey's ending in the west, 
The amaranthine palace of his rest. 
Below, the river, like a sheet of glass, 
Relleets the glories of the clouds which pass 
In slow procession, waiting for the day 
To change her regal raiment for the gray — 
The gleaming river, winding slowly down 
Beiu'ath its shady banks from town to town, 
With here a wide stretch, like a lake, revealed 
By the low level of a fertile field. 
And here but hinted at, or half concealed 
Behind the clustering mai)les of a grove 
"\^'here all the day the mocking echoes rove. 
You look upon a range of intervales 
AVhere the abundant harvest never fails. 
You sec the niilkuuiid drive the loitering line 
Of solemn-minded, melancholy kine. 
Perhaps a solitary crow flai)s by, 
"With heavy wing and hoarse, defiant cry, 
And .settles on the summit of the i)ine, 
"Waiting in patience till the friendly shade 
Shall shield the purport of his nightly raid, 
lien, as the sun sinks in a eloiul of fire, 
Che bell, which con.seerates the eluipel spire. 
Rising amid a ]ierfeet bower of trees. 
Sends forth its evening message on the breeze, 


And from the liills \rliicli girt the town around 
Return the answers of its silver sound; 
And o'er the misty river and the meadows 
Creep slowly, slowly, the long, sombre shadows. 


Killing worth, Conn. 


TT was the season, when throiigli all the land 
A The merle and mavis build, and building sing 
Those lovely lyrics, written by His hand. 

Whom Saxon Caedmon calls the Blithe-heart King; 
When on the boughs the purple buds expand, 

The banners of the vanguard of the Spring, 
And rivulets, rejoicing, rush and leap, 
And wave their fluttering signals from the steep. 

The robin and the bluebird, piping loud, 

rilled all the blossoming orchards with their glee; 

The sparrows chirped as if they still were proud 
Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be; 

And hungry crows assembled iu a crowd, 
Clamored their piteous prayer incessantly, 

Knowmg who hears the ravens cry, and said: 

" Give us, Lord, tlds day our daily bread ! " 


Acnxss tlio Sound the hinls of imssnjLfr sailed, 

Sprakiii^' some unknown lani^uap- stniii^c and sweet 

Of tn>i>ic i.sle n'uiote, and |KLs.siiig liailed 

The village with the eheers of all their fleet; 

Or quarnlling together, laughed and niiled 
Ijike foreign saihirs, hinded in the street 

Of seajH>rt town, and with outhmdish noise 

Of oaths and gibberish frightening girls and lK)ys. 

Thus eanic the joeund Spring in Killingworth, 

In fabulous days, some hundird years ago; 
And thrifty farmers, as they tilled the earth, 

Ileanl with alarm the eawing of the crow, 
That mingled with the univei-sal mirth, 

C';i>.>andn»-like, prognostieating woe; 
Tlir\ s!„,Mk llirir hculs. ,111.1 duuimd witli dreadful 

in swiit (lt•^l run iKii iiic wiinic I, in- ni i)iiu>. 

And a town-meeting was convened straightway 

To set a price ujMjn the guilty heads 
Of these maniuders, who, in lieu of jmy, 

Levii-tl blaek-mail ujKm the garden l)cds 
And eonillelds, and beheld without dismay 

The awful scarecrow, with his fluttering shreds; 
The skeleton that waited at their feast. 
Whereby their sinful i)le:usurc was increased. 

Then from his house, a ten»i)le pjiinted white, 
With fluted columns, and a roof of red. 


The Squire came fortli, august and splendid sight ! 

Slowly descending, with majestic tread, 
Three flights of steps, nor looking left nor right, 

Down the long street he walked, as one who said, 
" A town that boasts inhabitants like me 
Can have no lack of good society ! " 

The Parson, too, appeared, a man austere. 
The instinct of whose nature was to kill; 

The wrath of God he preached from year to year, 
And read, with fervor, Edwards on tlie Will; 

His favorite pastime was to slay the deer 
In Summer on some Adirondack hill; 

E'en now, while walking down tlie rural lane. 

He lopped the wayside Hlies with his cane. 

From the Academy, whose belfry crowned 
The hill of Science with its vane of brass, 

Came the Preceptor, gazing idly round, 

Now at the clouds, and now at the green grass, 

And all absorbed in reveries profound 
Of fair Almira in the upper class, 

Who was, as in a sonnet he had said, 

As pure as water, and as good as bread. 

And next the Deacon issued from his door. 
In his voluminous neck-cloth, white as snow ; 

A suit of sable bombazine he wore ; 

His form was ponderous, and his step was slow : 


There never was so Tvise a man before; 

He seemed tlie incarnate '' Well, I told you so I " 
And to perpetuate liis great renown 
There was a street named after him in town. 

Tliese came together in the new town-hall, 
With sundry farmers from the region round. 

The Squire presided, dignified and tall, 

His air impressive and his reasoning sound; 

111 fared it with the birds, both great and small; 
Hardly a friend in all that crowd they found, 

But enemies enough, who every one 

Charged them with all the crimes beneath the sun. 

Wlicn they had ended, from his place apart. 
Rose tlie Preceptor, to redress the wrong, 

And, trembling like a steed before the start, 

Looked roiind bewildered on the expectant throng; 

Tlieu thought of fair Alinira, and took heart 

To speak out what was in liim, clear and strong, 

Alike regardless of their smile or frown, 

And quite determined not to be laughed down. 

'' Plato, antieipaiing the Reviewers, 

Prom his Republic banished without pity 

Tlie Poets ; in this little town of yours. 

You put to death, by means of a Committee, 

The ballad-singers and the Troubadours, 
The street-musicians of the heavenly city. 

The birds, who make sweet music for us all 

In our dark hours, as David did for Saul. 


The thrush that carols at tlic ilawii of day 

From the green steeples of the piny wood ; 
Tlio orioU* ill the elm ; the noisy jay, 

Jargouini; Uke a foreigner at his food ; 
The bhicbird balanced on some topmost spniy, 

Flooding willi melody the neigliborhood ; 
Linnet and meadow-lark, and jdl the throng 
That dwell in nt-sts, and have the gift of song. 

You slay them all! and wherefore? for tlic gain 

Of a scant liandful more or less of wheat, 
Or rye, or barley, or some- other grain, 

ScniU'hi'd up at random by iiulustrions feet, 
Searching for worm or weevil after niin ! 

Or a few cherries, that are not so sweet 
As are the songs these uninvited guests 
Sing at their feast with comfortable bi^asts. 

Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these? 

Do you ne'er think who made them, and who taught 
Tlij dialect they speak, where melodies 

Alone are the interpreters of thought ? 
AVhosc household words are songs in many keys, 

Sweeter than instrument of man e'er caught ! 
Whose habitations in the tree-tops even 
Arc half-way houses on the road to heaven ! 

"Tliink, every morning when the sun peeps tlirough 
The dim, leaf-latticed windows of the grove. 

How jubilant the happy birds renew 
Their old, melodious madrigals of love! 


And when you think of this, remember too 

'T is always morning somcwlicrc, and above 
The awakening continents, from shore to shore, 
Somewhere the birds arc singing evermore. 

" Tliink of your M'oods and orcliards without birds ! 

Of empty nests that chug to boughs and beams 
As in an idiot's brain remembered words 

Hang empty mid the cobwebs of his dreams ! 
Will l)leat of Hocks or bellowing of herds 

^lake up for the lost nuisic, when your teams 
Drag home the stingy harvest, and no more 
The feathered uKaurrs follow to your door? 

"What! woulc^you rather sec the incessant stir 
Of insects in the Avindrows of the hay. 

And hear the locust and the grjusshopper 
Their melancholy hurdy-gurdies play? 

Is this more jdcasant to you than the whir 
Of meadow-lark, and her sweet roiuulelay, 

Or twitter of little field-fares, as you take 

Your nooning in the shade of bush and brake? 

"You call them thieves and pillagers; but know, 
Tiicy are the winged wardens of your farms. 

Who from the cornfields drive the insidious foe. 
And from your harvests keep a hundred harms 

Even the blackest of them all, the crow. 
Renders good service as your man-at-anns, 


Crushiug the beetle in his coat of mail, 
And crying havoc on the slug and snail. 

" Ilovr can I teach your children gentleness, 
And mercy to the weak, and reverence 

For Life, which, in its weakness or excess, 
Is still a gleam of God's omnipotence, 

Or Death, which, seeming darkness, is no less 
The selfsame light, althougli averted heice, 

When by your laws, your actions, and your speech, 

You contradict the very things I teach ? " 

With this he closed ; and tlirough the audience went 
A murmur, like the rustle of dead leaves ; 

The farmers laughed and nodded, and some bent 
Their yellow heads together like their sheaves ; 

Men have no faith in fine-spun sentiment 

Who put their trust in bullocks and in beeves. 

The birds were doomed ; and, as the record shows' 

A bounty oiT.n-ed for the heads of crows. 

There M-as another 'audience out of reach, 
Wlio had no voice nor vote in making laws. 

But in the papers read his little speech, 

And crowned his modcst^emples with applause ; 

They made him conscious, each one riiore than each, 
He still was victor, vanquished in their cause. 

Sweetest of all the applause he won from thee, 

fair Almira at the Academy ! 

And so tlic dreadful massacre began ; 

O'er fields and orchards, and o'er woodland crests, 


The ceaseless fusillade of terror ran. 

Dead fell tlie birds, with blood-stains on their breasts, 
Or wounded crept away from sight of man, 

While the young died of famine in tlieir nests ; 
A slaughter to be told in groans, not words, 
The very St. Bartholomew of Birds ! 

The Summer came, and all the birds were dead; 

Tlie days were like hot coals ; the very ground 
Was burned to ashes; in the orchards fed 

Myriads of caterpillars, and around 
The cultivated fields and garden beds 

Hosts of devouring insects crawled, and found 
No foe to check their march, till they had made 
The land a desert without leaf or shade. 

Devoured by worms, like Herod, was the town. 

Because, like Herod, it had ruthlessly 
Slaughtered the Innocents. From the trees spun down 

The canker-worms upon the passers-by. 
Upon each woman's bonnet, shawl, and gown. 

Who shook them off with just a little cry ; 
Tliey were the terror of each favorite walk, 
Tlie endless theme of all tke village talk. 

Tli3 farmers grew impatient, but a few 

Confessed their error,, and would not complain, 

For after all, the best thing one can do 
Allien it is raining, is to let it rain. 

Then they repeak^d the law, althougli they knew 
It would not call the dead to life again; 

KILLING wo in 11. 15 

As scbool-bovs, findiiii? tlioir mistake too late, 
Di-aw a uct sponge across tlic acciisiui; t>latc. 

That year in Killingwortli tlic Autumn came 
Witliout the liglit of his majestic look, 

The wonder of the falling tongues of flame, 
The illumined pages of his Doom's-l)ay book. 

A few lost leaves blushed crimson with their shame, 
And drowned themselves desi)airing in the brook, 

UTiile the wild wind went moaning everywhere, 

l.anientint: the dead children of the air I 

Hut the next Spring a sti-anger sight was seen, 
A sight that never yet by banl was sung, 

As great a wonder as it would have been 
If some dumb animal had found a tongue ! 

A wagon, o'crarchod with evergreen, 

Upon whose boughs were wicker cages hung, 

All full of singing birds, came down the street. 

Filling the air with music M'ild and sweet. 

From all the country round these birds were brought, 
By order of the town, with anxions quest. 

And, loosened from their wicker prisons, sought 
In woods and fields the places they loved best. 

Singing loud canticles, which many thought 
Were satires to the authorities addressed, 

While others, listening in green lanes, averred 

Such lovely music never had becu heard! 


But blither still and louder carolled tliey 

Upon the morrow, for they sccincd to know 

It was the fair Almira's wedding-day, 
And everywhere, around, above, below. 

When the Precej)tor bore his bride away, 
Their songs burst forth in joyous overflow, 

And a new heaven bent over a new earth 

Ainid the sunny farms of Killingworth. 

lleiiry Wadsworth Longfellow. 

Lexington, Mass. 


V["0 Berserk thirst of blood had they, 
1^ No battle-joy was theirs, who set 

Against the alien bayonet 
Their homespun breasts in that old day. 

Their feet had trodden peaceful ways; 

They loved not strife, they dreaded pain ; 

They saw not, what to us is ])hiin, 
That G.)d would make man's wrath his praise. 

No seers were they, but sinii)le men; 
Its vast results the future hid : 
Tlic meaning of the work tlicy did 

Was strange and dark and doubtful then. 

Swift as their sunnnons came they left 
The plough mid-furrow standing still, 
The half-ground corn grist in the mill. 

The spade in earth, the axe in cleft. 


They went whore duty scnncd to call, 
Tlicy scarcely aski'cl the reason why ; 
They only knew they could but die, 

And death was not the worst of all ! 

Of man for man the sacrifice, 

All that was tlieirs to give they gave. 

TIjc flowers that blossomed from their grave 

Have sown themselves beneath all skies. 

Their death-shot shook the feudal tower, 
And shattered slavery's chain as well ; 
On the sky's dome, as on a bell, 

Its echo struck the world's great hour. 

That fateful echo is not dumb : 
The nations listening to its sound 
Wait, from a century's vantage-ground. 

The holier triumphs yet to come, — 

The bridal time of Law and Love, 
The gladness of the world's release, 
When, war-sick, at the feet of Peace 

The hawk shall nestle with the dove ! — 

Tlie golden age of brotherhood 

Unknown to other rivalries 

Than of the mild humanities. 
And gracious interchange of good. 

When closer strand shall lean to strand. 

Till meet, beneath saluting flags, 

The eagle of our mouutaiu-crags, 

Tlie lion of our Motherland ! 

Johii Greenleaf Whittier. 


Lynn, Mass. 



CURFEW of the setting sun! O Bells of Lynn! 
requiem of the dying day ! O Bells of Lynn ! 

From the dark belfries of yon cloud-eathedral wafted, 
Your sounds aerial seem to float, Bells of Lynn ! 

Borne on the cvcning-wind across the crimson twilight. 
O'er land and sea they rise and fall, O Bells of Lynn! 

The fisherman in his boat, far out beyond the headland, 
Listens, and leisurely rows ashore, Bells of Lynn I 

Over the shining sands the Avandering cattle homeward 
Follow each other at your call, O r)ells of Lynn! 

The distant lighthouse hears, and with his flaming signal 
Answers you, passing the watchword on n B,<11s of 
Lynn ! 

And down the darkening coast run the tumultuous 

And clap their hands, and shout to you, O Bells of 


Till from the shuddering sea, with your wild incantj 

LYNN. 19 

Yc summon up tlic spectral moon, Bdls of Lynn ! 
And startled at the sight, like the weird woman of 

Yc cry aloud, and then are still, O Bells of Lynn ! 

llevry Waihworih Longfellow. 


OTETILOOKING the town of Lynn, 
So far above that the city's din 
Mingles and blends with the heavy roar 
Of the breakers along the curving shore, 
Scarred and furrowed and glacier-seamed, 
Back in the ages so long ago, 
The boldest philosopher never dreamed 
To count the centuries' ebb and ilow. 
Stands a rock with its gray old face 
Eastward, ever turned to the place 
^Thcre first the rim of the sun is seen, — 
Whenever the morning sky is bright, — 
Cleaving the glistening, glancing sheen 
Of the sea with disk of insufferable light. 
Down in the eartli his roots strike deep ; 
Up to his breast the houses creep. 
Climbing e'en to his rugged face. 
Or nestling lovingly at his base. 

Stand on his forehead, bare and brown. 
Send your gaze o'er the roofs of the town. 
Away to the line so faint and dim. 

20 poi;ms of places. 

"Wlicro tlio sky stoops down to the crystal rim 
Of tlic bro:ul Atlantic whose billows toss, 
Wrestling and weltering and hnrrying on 
With awful fury whenever across 
His broad, bright surface with liowl and moan, 
The Temjj.^st wheels, with black wing bowed 
To the yielding waters which fly to the cloud, 
Or hurry along with thunderous shocks 
To break on the ragged and riven rocks. 

"When the tide comes in on a sunny day, 
You can see tlie waves beat back in spray 
From the splintered spurs of Phillips Head, 
Or tripping along with dainty tread. 
As of a million glancing feet 
Shake out the light in a quick retreat. 
Or along the smooth curve of the beach, 
Snowy and curling, in long lines reach. 

An islet anchored and held to land 

By a glistening, foam-friug.'d ribbon of sand; 

That is Nahant, and that hoary ledge 

To the left is Egg Rock, like a blunted wedge, 

Cleaving the restl.'ss ocean's breast, 

And bearing tiie light Idusc on its crest. 

All these t-hings and a hundred more, 
\ I Hill and meadow and niarsli and shore, 

Your eye o'eilooks from the gray bluff's brow; 
And I sometimes wonder what, if now 
The old rock had a voice, 't would say 
Of the countless years it has gazed afar 


Over the sea as it looks to-day ; 

Gazed unmoved, thougli Avitli furrow and scar 

The seulptor ages have wrought his face, 

Wliile centuries came and went apace, 

Just like the ceaseless ebb and How 

Of the restless hurrying tides below, 

Elizabeth F. Merrill 

Marblehead, Mass. 


OF all the rides since the birth of time. 
Told in story or sung in rhyme, — 
On Apuleius's Golden Ass, 
Or one-eyed Calendar's horse of brass. 
Witch astride of a human back, 
Islam's prophet on Al-Borak, — 
The strangest ride that ever was sped 
Was Ireson's, out from Marblehead ! 
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart. 
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
By the women of ^larblehead ! 

Body of turkey, head of owl. 
Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl. 
Feathered and ruffled in every part. 
Skipper Ireson stood in the cart. 
Scores of women, old and young. 
Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue. 


Pushed and j)iill('il iij) tlic rocky lanr, 
Shout i 111]^ aud sinking the shrill refrain : 
" IIoiT 's riud Oirsou, fur his horrd horrt, 
Torr'd au' fulhcrr'd au' corr'd iu a corrt 
\\\- ihr woiiKMi o' MorbU-'cad ! " 

AVriukled scolds uith liauds on hips, 

CJiils iu bloom of check and lips, 

AVild-cyed, frcc-linibcd, such as chase 

]V-jcchus round sonic antique vase, 

Brief of skirt, with ankles bare, 

Loose of kerchief and loose of hair, 

A^'ith couch-shells blowing aud fish-horns' twang, 

Over and over the Maenads sang : 

" Here 's Find Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd i»i a corrt 
}\\ the wouieu o' Morble'ead ! " 

Small pity for hiui ! — lie sailed away 
From a leaking ship, iu Chalcur Bay, — 
Sailed away from a sinking wreck. 
With his own toMu's-peoi)lc on her deck ! 
" Lay l)y ! lay by ! " they called to hiui. 
liaek he answered, "Sink or swiui! 
Brag of your catch of fish again ! " 
And ofi" he sailed through the fog and rain ! 
Old Floyd h'esou, for his hard heart. 
Tarred and feathered and carried iu a cart 
By ihc. Wdiiieu of Marblehead ! 

Fathoms deep iu dark Chalcur 
That wreck shall lie forcvcrmorc. 


Mother and sister, wife and maid, 
Looked from the rocks of Marblchead 
Over tlic moaning and rainy sea, — 
Looked for the coming that might not be ! 
What did tlie winds and tlie sca-hirds say 
Of the cruel captain ^vllO sailed away ? — 
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
By the women of Marblehcad ! 

Througli the street, on either side. 
Up flew windows, doors swung wide ; 
Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray. 
Treble lent the fish-horn's bray. 
Sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound, 
Hulks of old sailors run aground. 
Shook head and fisl and hat and cane. 
And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain : 
" Here 's Plud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a eorrt 
By the women o' Morblc'ead ! " 

Sweetly along the Salem road 
Bloom of orchard and lilac showed. 
Little the wicked skipper knew 
Of the fields so green and the sky so blue. 
Riding there in his sorry trim, 
Like an Indian idol glum and grim, 
Scarcely he seemed the sound to hear 
Of voices shouting, far and near : 

" Here 's Find Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 


Torr'd au' futlierr'd an' corr'd in a corrt 
By the Tromen o' Morble'ead ! " 

"Hear me, neighbors !" at last he cried, — 
"What to me is this noisy ride? 
What is the sliame that clothes the skin 
To the nameless liorror that lives within? 
Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck. 
And hear a cry from a reeling deck ! 
Hate me and curse me, — I only dread 
The hand of Ged and the face of the dead!" 
Said old Tloyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
By the women of Marblehead ! 

Then the wife of the skipper lost at sea 

Said, " God has touched him ! — why should we ? 


Said an old wife mourning her only son, |l 

"Cut the rogue's tether and let him run!" ^I 

So with soft relentings and rude excuse, 
Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose, . j 

And gave him a cloak to hide him in, *[ 

And left him alone with his shame and sin. 

Poor Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart. 

Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
By the Avomen of Marblehead ! 

John Greenleaf Whitiier. 



Ix thf ?y>nn- ^^f thr yrnr 1** 1h<» »fhooncr Ikt«y of Mnrlililirail 
r ;*• C"<k1 oil liiT \\H\ lioim- 

f; it was (Inrk Kixi titc sra 

to render aiiy nstistniirf 

n I he wrrrk, m l.o rt-arhid 

"U-litnd In-fore llic Betsy's 

krri^ftl. Uk - '.til liv the crowd OH the wharf, 

protntcd tlia- n eo to the relief of the w reeked 

N, . ■ ■■• ■' • '-'••, 1 „.,,■, 

lu. .,.. . . •^i 

ahow huu to bu own ptope 

OLD Flood Ircson ! all too long 
Have jeer and jibe and ribald song 
Done thy memory eruel wrong. 

Old Flood Ireson, bemling low 
Under the wciu'ht of yeai-s and woe, 
Cnpt to his reftige King ago. 

Old Flood Ireson sleeps in his grave; 
Howls of a mad mob, worse than the wave. 
Now no more in his ear shall rave ! 

« * * 

Gone is the pack and gone the prey, 
Yet old Flood Ireson's ghost to-day 
Is hunted stUl down Time's highway. 

Old wife Fame, with a fisli-horn's blare 
Hooting and tooting the same old air. 
Drags him along the old thoroughfare. 


Mocked rvorniorc with the old refrain, 
Skilfully wroiiG^ht to a tuneful strain, 
Jingliui; and jolting he comes af,'ain 

Over that road of old renown, 
Fair broad avenne, leading down 
Throiigh Sonth Fields to Salem town, 

v^eourged and stung by the Muses' tlionir. 
Mounted high on the car of song, 
Sight that cries, O Lord ! how h)ng 

Shall heaven look on and not take part 
With the ])oor old man and his fluttering heart. 
Tarred and feathered and carried in a earl ? 

Old Flood Ireson, now when Fame 
Wipes away with tears of shame 
Stains from many an injured name. 

Shall not, in the tuneful line, 
Beams of truth and nierey shino 
Through the clouds that darken thine? 

Take heueeforlh, perturbed sprite, 

From the fever and the fright. 

Take the rest, — thy well-earned right. 

Along the track of that hard ride 
The form of Penitence oft shall glide, 
With tender Pity by her side; 

And their tears, that mingling fall 

On the dark record they recall. 

Shall cleanse the stain and expiate all. 

Charles Timothtf Rronh. 



WHEN the reaper's task was ended, and the sum- 
mer wearing late, 
Parson Avery sailed from Newbury, with his wife and 

children eight. 
Dropping down the river-harbor in the shallop "Watch 
and Wait." 

Pleasantly lay the clearings in the mellow summer-morn, 
With the newly planted orchards dropping their fruits 

And the homesteads like green islands amid a sea of 


Broad meadows reached out seaward the tided creeks 

And hills rolled wave -like inland, with oaks and walnuts 

green ; — 
A fairer home, a goodlier land, his eyes had never seen. 

Yet away sailed Parson Avery, away where duty led, 
And the voice of God seemed calling, to break the 

living bread 
To the souls of fishers starving on the rocks of Mar- 


All day they sailed : at nightfall the pleasant land-breeze 

The blackening sky, at midnight, its starry lights denied, 
And far and low the thunder of tempest prophesied ! 


Blotted out were :»11 tlic Cdust-liiics, gone wcir rock 

and wood and sand ; 
Clrinilv anxious stood tlio skipitcr wiih tlu- rudder in his 

* Iwmd, 
And quest ionrd of the darkness what was sea and wliat 
\v:is land. 

And tlio preacher heard his dear ones, nestled round 

him, weei)ini:^ sore : 
"Never heed, my little children! Ciirist is walking on 

To the pleasant laiul of heaven, where the sea shall be 

no more." 

All at once the great eloud jiarted, like a curtain drawn 

To let down the torch of lightning on the terror far 

and wide ; 
\"1 t!ie thunder and the whirlwind togeth'T <u ,a,- tin- 


There was wailing in the sli;tll<.i». woman's wail ami 

man's desj)air, 
A crash of breaking timhers on tne pteK^ so siiarp ami 

And, through it all, the murmur of Father Avery's 


From liis strngu'le in tlie darkness with the wild waves 
and the blast. 


On a rock, where every billow broke cabove him as it 

Alone, of all liis household, the man of God Mas cast. 

There a comrade heard him praying, in the pause of 

wave and wind : 
"All my own have gone before me, and I linger just 

behind ; 
Not for life I ask, but only for the rest tliy ransomed 

find ! " 

The ear of God was open to his servant's last request ; 
As the strong wave swept him downward the sweet 

hymn upward pressed, 
And the soul of Father Avery went, singing, to its rest. 

There was wailing on the mainland, from the rocks of 

Marblehead ; 
In the stricken church of Newbury the notes of prayer 

were read; 
And long, by board and hearthstone, the living mourned 

the dead. 

And still the fishers outbound, or scudding from the 

With grave and reverent faces, the ancient tale recall, 
"When they see the white waves breaking on the Rock 

of Avery's Fall ! 

John Greenleaf Whittier. 



THE curved stniiul 
Of cool, gray sand 
Lies like a sickle by the sea ; 
The tide is low, 
But soft and slow 
Is creeping higher up the lea. 

The beach-birds fleet, 

"With twinkling feet, 
Hurry and scurry to and fro, 

And sip, and chat 

Of this and that 
Which you and I may never know. 

The runlets gay. 

That haste away 
To meet each snowy-bosomed crest. 

Enrich the shore 

"With lleeting store 
Of art-defying arabesque. 

Each higher wave 

Doth touch and lave 
A million ]»ebblcs smooth and bright 

Straightway they grow 

A beauteous show, 
"With lines unknown befcjre bcdight. 


High up the bcacli, 

Far out of reach 
Of coinniou tides tliat ebb and flow, 

The drift-wood's lieap 

Doth record keep 
Of storms that ])enslicd long ago. 

Kor storms alone : 

I hear tiie moan 
Of voices choked by dashing brine, 

"When sunken rock 

Or tempest shock 
Crushed the good vessel's oaken spine. 

Where ends the beach, 

The cliffs uprcach 
Their lichen-wrinkled foreheads old ; 

And here I rest, 

While all the west 
Grows brighter with the sunset's gold. 

Far out at sea. 

Tlic ships that flee 
Along the dim horizon's line 

Their sails uiifcld 

Like cloth of gold, 
Transfigured by that light divine. 

A calm more deep. 
As 'twere asleep. 
Upon the weary ocean falls ; 
So low it sighs, 


Its murnuir dies, 
Wliile shrill tlie boding cricket calls. 

peace and rest ! 
Upon the breast 

Of God himself I seem to lean, 

No break, no bar 

Of sail or star : 
Just God and I, with naught bctvveeu. 

( )h, when sonic day 
In vain I ])ray 
Tor days like this to come again, 

1 shall rejoice 

AVith heart and voice 
That one such day has ever been. 

John U'liitc Chadwick. 


OYER the Avavcs the i'etrel sped, 
(Captain ^lorrow of Marblehead,) 
And one line day the sailors said, 
" Thanksgiving, sir, to-morrow." 

" \\'ell, lads, wc owe Die Lord our lives, 
Our happy lionics and loving wives, 
Aiul we '11 win home, if each one strives, 
And tell him so, to-morrow." 

Tiien all the day was sound of song, 
Work with laughter went along, 


Every licart licld promise strong 
Of Tluiuksgiviiig on the morrow. 

Tlie tlayliglit faded into iiiglit, 
The trig ship was a })leasant sight; 
On the horizon bnrst a light : 

" "Wiiat 's that?'' said Caj^ain Morrow. 

A moment's space of silence dire, 
Aiid then the cry, " A sliii) on fire ! " 
" Set Sctils, my lads, we njust go nigher 
Though wc should lose to-morrow ! " 

He scarce had spoke when, sound of fear, 
The minute-gun smote every ear ; 
Then broke the men into a cheer, 
" Good boys ! " said Captain Morrow. 

They turned the Petrel round about; 
They backward turned with prayer and shout ; 
That pleading gun had driven out 
All thoughts of their to-morrow. 

And forty souls, with weary pain. 
The Petrel brouglit to life again. 
From out of whelming wave and flame. 
" Thank God ! " said Captain Morrow. 

" Good comrades, we have made no slip 
Between the promised cup and hp; 
We'll hold 'Thanksgiving' in the ship, 
And then asrain to-morrow." 



Be sure the Petrel's lialf-1'etl throng 
Kept good Tliaiiksgiving all day long, 
Li grateful prayer and happy song, 
Well led by Captain Morrow. 

Lill'ia E. Ban 



WE sat within the farm-house old, 
Whose windows, looking o'er the bay, 
Gave to the sea-breeze, damp and eold, 
An easy entrance, night and day. 

Not far away v^q saw the port, 

The strange, old-fashioned, silent town, 

The lighthouse, the dismantled fort. 
The wooden houses, quaint and brown. 

We sat and talked until the night. 
Descending, fdled the little room; 

Our faces faded from the sight. 
Our voices only broke the gloom. 

We spake of many a vanished scene. 
Of what we once had thought and said, 

Of what had been and might have been. 
And who was changed and who was dead, 

And all that fills the hearts of friends. 
When first they feel, with secret pain, 

mat: lu.i: HEAD. 35 

Their livrs llipnocfortli liavc scparato ciuh, 
And never can bf one ag:ain ; 

The first slij^lit swerving of the lieart, 
That words arc powerless to express, 

And leave it still nnsaid in part, 
Or say it in too great excess. 

The very tones in wliich we spake 

Had something stninge, 1 eonld but mark; 

The leaves of memory seemed to make 
A mournful rustling in the dark. 

Oft died the words ujx)n our lij)s. 

As suddenly, fnnn out tlic lire 
Built of the wreck of stranded ships, 

The flames would leap and tlieu exi)iro. 

And, as their splendor flashed and failed. 
We thought of wrecks upon the main. 

Of ships dismasted, that were hailed 
And sent no answer back again. 

The windows, rattling in their frames. 
The ocean, roaring up the beach, 

The gusty blast, the bickering flames. 
All mingled vaguely in our speech; 

Until they made themselves a part 
Of fancies floating through the brain, 

Tlie long-lost ventures of the hcai-t, 
That send no answers back again. 


ilamcs that glowed ! O hearts that yearned ! 

Tliey "were indeed too mucli akin, 
The drift-wood lire without tliat l)urned, 
. The thouglits tliat burned and ^^owed within. 
lleiiry ]\'adsworth Luuf/felloiv. 

Marshfield, Mass, 


A CLOUD is over Marslifiekl, and the wail 
Of a vast empire tloats upon the gale; 
One witiiout peer has shai<en hands witli death, 
And yielded to tlie elements his breath : 
Admonished that the last great change was nigh. 
Majestic in decline, he came to die 
Back to the rural scenes he loved so well. 
Cheered by the low of kine, ami jiastoral bell, — 
Back, where his ear ouce more might catch the roll 
Of tlie roused Ocean, — symbol of his soul! 

The agony is o'er, — tlie goal is won, — 
Earth oi)ens to receive her greatest son ! 
Tiic world seems ])oorer now, the sky less fair. 
And reigus a l)roodiug saduess everywhere ! 
Mourn, stern New Kugland ! motlicr of the dead ! 
Bow to the dust thy richly laurelled head ! 
He was thy pride, the i)rop of thy renown, 
The brightest jewel in thy dazzling crown ; 

matitiia's vixfaard. 37 

Thy battle-fields of liberty he tnxl, 
Holding thy soil iu revcrcnce next to God, 
And the proud triiiini)hs of his matchless mind 
Are closely with thy heart-strings intertwined. 

U'illiain Henri/ Ciajler Ilosmer. 

Martlui's Vlncjiard, Mass. 


BUT one day more, and, O hai)])y bells ! 
Your peals shall ring in old Edgartown, 
With music that rises and falls and swells. 

Over the village and })ast the down. 
Music that tells of two lives made one, 

Past Katama and Roaring-Brook, 
Out by Gay Head, where, at set of sun. 
The lighthouse gleams over hill and nook. 

And now for one last sail on the sea. 

Another morn they Mill take their way 
To his city home : they must say good by 

In a pleasant sail from the peaceful bay: 
They near the boat and they spread the sail. 

And merrily laugh in their careless glee. 
Though the wind is blowing half a gale. 

For an old, old friend is the bounding sea. 

Beyond the point wliere no shelter lies. 
The wild waves break in a blinding spray. 


And the dark squall gathers in angry skies. 
And roars and wliistles across tlicir way : 

Down with your lichn ! let go tlie sheet ! 
Too hite ! too late ! for the boat goes o'er, 

And lies on tlu' water a Avrcck complete, 
And miles away is the nearest shore. 

E. Normafi Giinniso/i. 

3Iattapoisett, Mass, 


I WANDERED to the shore, nor knew I then 
What my desire, — whether lor wild lament, 
Or sweet regret, to fill the idle pause 
Of twilight, melancholy in my house, 
And Avatch the llowing tide, the passing sails; 
Or to implore the air and sea and sky 
For that eternal passion in their power 
Which soids like mine who pomlcr on tlicir fate 
May fc(.'l, and be as they, — gods to themselves. 
Thither I went, Mhatever was my mood. 
The sands, the rocks, the beds of sedge, and waves. 
Impelled to leave soft foam, compelled away, — 
1 saw alone. Between the east and west, 
Along the beach no creature moved besides. 
High on the eastern point a lighthouse shone; 
Steered by its lam]) a ship stood out to sea, 
And vanished from its rays towards the deep, 


While ill the west, above a wooded i.sle, 
All ishuid-cloiul hung in the einerakl sky, 
Hiding pale Venus in its sonil)re shade. 
I wandered up and down the sands, 1 loitered 
Among the roeks, and traini)led tlirough the sedge; 
But I grew weary of the stoeks and stones. 
"I will go henee," I thought; "the Elements 
Have lost their charm ; my soul is dead to-night. 
O passive, creeping Sea, and stagnant Air, 
Farewell ! dull sands, and rocks, and sedge, farewell." 

Elizabeth Stoddard. 


THE rough north-winds liave left tlicir icy caves 
To growl and group for jirey 
Upon the murky sea ; 
The lonely sea-gull skims the sullen waves 
All the gray winter day. 

The mottled sand-bird runneth up and down, 

Amongst the creaking sedge, 

Along the crusted beach ; 
The time-stained houses of the sea-walled town 

Are tottering on its edge. 

An ancient dwelling, in this ancient place. 

Stands in a garden drear, 

A wreck with other wrecks ; 
The past is there, but no one sees a face 

"Within, from year to year. 


Tlic wiry rosc-tivcs scnitch the Aviiul()\v-j)aue, 

Tlic window rat lies loud ; 

The wind beats at the door, 
But never gets an answer back again, 

The silenec is so proud. 

The last that lived there was an evil man; 

A ehild the last that died 

Upon the mother's breast. 
It seemed to die by some mysterious ban ; 

Its grave is by the side 

Of an old tree, whose notched and scanty leaves 

Repeat the tale ol" woe, 

Anil fpiiver day and night, 
Till the snow eometh, and a cold shroud weaves, 

Whiter than that l)eh)W. 

This time of year a woman wanders there — 

They say from distant lands : 

IShe wears a foreign dress, 
^Vith jewels on her breast, and her fair hair 

In braided coils and bands. 

The ancient dw<lling and the garden drear 

At night know .something more: 
AVilhout her foreign dress 
Or i)la/.iiig gems, this woman stcalcth near 

The threshold of the door. 

The shadow strikes against the window-[)aue ; 
She thrusts the thorns away : 


Her eyes peer through the glass, 
And down the gkiss her great tears drip, like rai;i, 
In the gray winter day. 

The moon shines down the dismal garden track, 

And lights the little mound; 

But Avhen she ventures there, 
Tiie black and threatening branches wave her back. 

And guard the ghastly ground. 

What is the story of this buried past ? 

Were all its doors flung wide. 

For us to search its rooms, 
And we to see the race, IVom first to last. 

And how they lived and died : — 

Still would it l)afllc and perplex, the brain, 

But teach this bitter truth: 

Man lives not in the past : 
None but a woman ever comes again 

Back to the house of Youth ! 

* i.: :;: 

Elizabeth Stoddard. 

Jlelvin, the JRiver, N. H, 


WHERE the Great Lake's sunny smiles 
Dimple round its hundred isles. 
And the mountain's granite ledge 
Cleaves the water like a weds-e. 


Kinge'd al)oiit with smooth, gray stones, 
Rest the giant's mighty bones. 

Close beside, in sliade aiid gleam, 
Latighs and nj)j)les Melvin stream; 
Mclvin water, moniitain-born, 
All fair llowers its banks adorn ; 
All the woodland's voiees meet. 
Mingling with its nmrniur.s sweet. 

Over lowlands forest-grown, 
Over waters island-strown, 
Over silver-sanded beaeh, 
Leaf-loeked bay and misty reaeh, 
Melvin stream and bnrial-heap, 
AVateh and ward iIk; niountains keep. 

Who that Titan erondeeh fills? 
Forest-kaiser, lonl o' tiie liills? 
Knight who on the birehen tree 
Carved his savage heraldry ? 
Priest o' the pine-wood temples dim, 
Prophet, sage, or wizard grim "r* 

Part t!iy bine lips, Ncnlhcrn lake! 
Moss-grown roeks, yonr silenee break ! 
Tell the t.'de, thon ancient tree ! 
Thon, too, slide-worn Ossipee I 
Speak, and tell ns how and when 
Lived and died this king of men! 

Wordless moans the aneient pine ; 
Lake and nu)untain give no sign; 


Yaiii to trace this ring of stones ; 
Vain tlie search of crumbling bones: 
Deepest of all uiystcries. 
And the saddest, silence is. 

Nameless, noteless, clay with clay 
Mingles slowly day by day ; 
But somewhere, for good or ill, 
That dark soul is living still ; 
Somewhere yet that atom's force 
Moves the light-poised universe. 

Strange that on his burial-sod 
Harebells bloom, and golden-rod, 
While the soul's dark horoscope 
Holds no starry sign of hope ! 
Is the Unseen with sight at odds ? 
Nature's pity more than God's? 

Thus I mused by ^Iclvin's side. 
While the summer eventide 
Made the woods and inland sea 
And the mountains mystery ; 
And the hush of earth and air 
Seemed the pause before a prayer, — 

Prayer for him, for all who rest. 

Mother Earth, upon thy breast, — 

Lapped on Christian turf, or hid 

In rock-cave or pyramid : 

All who sleep, as all who live. 

Well may need the prayer, " Forgive ! " 


Dcscrt-ijiuolht'rcd canivan, 
Kiice-dec[) dust that once was iiiau, 
Battlc-tiviiclics ^hablly \)\\iid, 
Occaii-lloors with white bones tiled. 
Crowded tomb and mounded sod. 
Dumbly crave that prayer to God. 

Oh the generations old 

Over whom uo church-bells tolled, 

Cliristless, lifting up l)lind eyes 

To the silence oi" I lie skies ! 

Por the iiuiumerablo dead 

Is my soul discpucted. 

WHiere be now these silent hosts ? 
Where tlie camping-ground of ghosts? 
Where the si)cctral conseri])t» led 
To the white tents of the dead? 
What strange shore or chartless sea 
Holds the awful mystery? 

Then tiie warm sky stooped to make 
Doubl ' sunset in the l:d;e ; 
While above 1 saw with it, 
liange on range, the mountains lit; 
And the calm and sjdjndor stole 
Like an answer to my soul. 

llear'st thou, O of little faitli. 
What to thee the mountain saitli. 
What is whispered liy tlic trees ? — 
" Cast on God thy care for these ; 


Trust liim, if tliy sight be dim : 
Doubt for them is doubt of Him. 

*' Bliud must be their closc-sliut eyes 
Where like uight the suushiue lies, 
Fierv-liuked the self-foiled chaiu 
Biudiug ever siu to paiu, 
Strong their prison-house of will. 
But without He waiteth still. 

" Not with hatred's undertow 
Doth the Love Eteriwl flow; 
Every chaiu that spirits wear 
Crumbles in the breath of prayer; 
And the penitent's desire 
Opens every gate of fire. 

*' StUl Thy love, O Christ arisen, 
Yearns to reach these souls in prison ! 
Through all depths of sin and loss 
Drops the plummet of Thy cross ! 
Never yet alDvss was found 
Deeper than that cross could sound ! " 

Therefore well may Nature keep 
Equal faith with all who sleep, 
Set her watch of hills around 
Christian grave and heathen mound. 
And to cairn and kirkyard send 
Summer's flowery dividend. 

Keep, O pleasant ]\Ielvin stream, 
Thy sweet laugh in shade and gleam ! 


On tlic Indian's gnassy tomb 

Swing, O flowers, yonr bells of bloom ! 

Deep below, as liigli above. 

Sweeps the eirele of God's love. 

Jolin Grecnlcaf WhittnT. 

Memphremafiofi, the Lake, Vt. 


NOT {IS wlicn, in summer days. 
Wove illusive sunset haze 
'^ I Round the niountiiin, bald and grim; 
"Wateliini,' at the roeking rim 
Of the eradled lake, whose isles 
Arc tlie toys at Mhieh it smiles, — 
And wl)rii day, but half awake, 
Saw the roe st(M)p to llie lake. 
And its silver waters si)), 
"With his image, lij) to lip ; 
Listening close, witli tremulous car, 
To ten thousand warblers clear, 
Up the greenwood steep so far; 
Which was dew-drop, wliieh was star, 
Glinunering near tlie gates ajar, — 
AVIiat was bird-voice, wliat was psalm. 
Stealing through the radiant balm. 
Out the changeless, God-lit sphere. 
Sense said not, nf>r eve nor ear. 


Dash tlic cauvas, — wliilc fur green ; 
Summer's gone, — a winter scene. 

Owl's ITcad wears its coil of snow, j*^ 
Mcniplireniagog hides Ijclow ; 
Crisp the air, witli frost and sleet 
ToldiDg, in the mountain dim, 
As his wings the seraphim, — 
Twain his face and twain his feet, 
^lirroring waves no more declare 
Passing thought of sky and air. 
Moon, or stars, or bird, or cloud. 
Nor to winds confess aloud. 
Conscience troubled, heart and head ; 
Icc-incrusted, deep snow-spread, 
Nothing stirs a conscience dead. 

On the fir-tree's outstretched palms 
Lie the bounteous angel alms ; 
League on league of untrod white, 
Save the squirrel's footmarks slight ; 
And the red fox's deeper trail, 
Where lie roamed the moonlit vale ; 
Ay, and slant the frozen wave. 
Past the smuggler's island cave ; 
One great furrow, roughly ploughed, 
By a preying "wolf-pack loud, 
Fierce and lean and devil-browed. 
By their lair, 'neath Eagles' Cliff, 
Oft the covetous white man's skiff 
Chased and lost the birch canoe, 


When sonic rock-u:;itc let it through, 
Bearing to the nioiuilain's bed. 
' Ot" his tril)C tlie guardian red, 

Over a mysterious mine, 
Where tlie silver nuggets shine — 
lliiUlen still; there are w]\o say. 
Guards his ghost the i)lace, to-day. 

Deep "within the solitude 

Of the winter-girded Mood, 

"Where no loot of inan comes near, 

Is a herd of gentle deer. 

Six brave stags, with each a mate, 

In a city of whose gate 

Spring, incoming, holds the key, — 

City walled with ijorjjhyry. 

l^usy workers wrought betimes, 

Hearing naught of Christnuis chimes. 

Heeding nanglit of glad New Year, 

Daily, nightly, building here. 

Noiseless workers, — trowel's Iray, 

Chisers twang, nor mattock's sway 

Tcm|)ted Echo from her haunt; 

Sealfold high, nor ladder gaunt, 

Stayed them up, or aided down, 

AVhile was reared that forest to^vu. 

Silence, save when touc severe. 

As of tyrant overseer, — 

Was it i)nt the hoarse wind's call ? 

"Clouds and Cold and Snowllakes, all, 

Idlers, haste, — build, build your wall!" 

L. S. Goodwin. 


Mcrrimac, the liiver. 


STREAM of my fathers ! sweetly still 
The sunset rays thy valley fill; 
Poured slantwise down the long; defile, 
Wave, wood, and s])ire beneath them smile. 
I see the windinj^ Powow fold 
The green hill in its belt of gold, 
And followhig down its wavy line, 
Its sparkling waters blend with tiiine. 
Tliere 's not a tree upon thy side, 
Nor rock, which thy returning tide 
As yet hath left abrupt and stark 
Above thy evening water-mark ; 
No calm cove with its rocky hem, 
No isle whose emerald swells begem 
Thy broad, smooth current ; not a sail 
Bowed to the freshening ocean gale; 
No small boat with its busy oars, 
Nor gray wall sloping to thy shores ; 
Nor farm-house with its maple shade, 
Or rigid poplar colonnade. 
But lies distinct and full in sight. 
Beneath this gush of sunset light. 
Centuries ago, that harbor-bar. 
Stretching its length of foam afar. 
And Salisbury's beach of shining sand. 


And yonder island's -wave-smoothed strand, 

Saw the adventurer's tiny sail, 

Flit, stoopinj^ from the eastern cjale ; ^ 

And o'er these woods and waters Ijroke 

The elicer iVom l^ritain's hearts of oak, 

As brightly on the voyager's eye, 

Weary of forest, sea, and sky, 

Breaking the dull eontinuous wood, 

The ^lerriinac rolled down his Hood ; 

Mingling tliat elear pellueid brook, 

Whieli channels vast Agiochook, 

When spring-time's sun and shower unlock 

The frozen fountains of the rock, 

And more abundant walers given 

From that jiure lake, 'The Smile of Hcaveu, 

Tributes from vale and mountain-side, — 

With ocean's dark, eternal tide ! 

On yonder rocky ca]ie, which braves 
The stormy challenge of the waves, 
!Midst tangled vine and dwarfish wood. 
The liardy Anglo-Saxon stood. 
Planting upon the tojimost crag 
The stair of Enghmd's battle-lhig ; 
And, while from out its heavy fold 
Saint fier)rgc's crimson cross unrolled. 
Midst roll of drum and trumpet blare, 
And weaj)ons brandishing in air, 
He gave to that lone ])romontory 

1 Captain Smith. 2 Lrikp Winnipisaukee. 


The sweetest name in all his storv ; ^ 
Of her, the flower of Islam's daiitrhtcrs, 
Whose harems look on Stambonl's waters, — 
Who, when tiie ehanee of war had bound 
Tiie Moslem eliain his limbs around. 
Wreathed o'er with silk that iron chain. 
Soothed with her smiles his hours of pain. 
And fondly to her youthful slave 
A dearer g:i{'t than freedom gave. 

But look! — the yellow light no more 
Streams down on wave and verdant shore ; 
And clearly on the calm air swells 
The twilight voice of distant bells. 
From Ocean's bosom, white and thin. 
The mists come slowly rolling in ; 
Hills, woods, the river's rocky rim. 
Amidst the sea-like vapor swim. 
While yonder lonely coast-light, set 
Within its wave-washed minaret, 
Half quenched, a beamless star and pale. 
Shines dimly through its cloudy veil ! 

Home of my fathers'. — I have stood 
Where Hudson rolled his lordly flood : 
Seen sunrise rest and sunset fade 
Along his frowniug Palisade ; 
Looked down the Appalachian peak 
On Juniata's silver streak ; 

3 Captain Smith gave to tlie promontory now called Cajie Ann the name 
of Tragabizauda. 

im)i;ms of placks. 

Have se(Mi along his valley gleam 
Tile Mohawk's softly wiiuliug stream ; 
The level light of sunset shine 
Through broad Potomac's hem of pine ; 
And autumn's rainbow-tinted banner 
Hang lightly o'er the Susquehanna; 
Yet wheresoe'cr his step might be, 
Thy wandering child looked back to thee ! 
Heard in his dreams thy river's sound 
Of murniuring on its pebbly bound, 
The nnforgotten swell and roar 
Of waves on thy familiar shore; 
And saw, amidst the curtained gloom 
And quiet of his lonely roou), 
Thy sunset scenes before him pass ; 
As, in Agrijjpa's magic glass, 
The loved and lost arose to view, 
Hemcml)ered groves in greenness grew, 
R'lthed still in chddhood's morning dcvr, 
Along whose bowers of beauty swept 
Whatever Memory's mournei-s wept. 
Sweet faces, which the charnel kept, 
Young, gentle eyes, which long had slept; 
And while the gazer leaned to tnicc, 
M<u'e near, sonic dear familiar face. 
He wept to llnd the vision llown, — 
A phantom and a dream alone ! 

John lirccnleaf WhUlier, 



THE roll of drums and the bugle's wailing 
Vex the air of our vales no more ; 
The spear is beaten to hooks of pruning, 
The share is the sword the soldier wore ! 

Sing soft, sing low, our lowland river, 
Under thy banks of hiurcl bloom; 

Softly and sweet, as the hour beseemcth. 
Sing us the songs of peace and home. 

Let all the tenderer voices of nature 
Temper the triumph and chasten mirth, 

Full of the infinite love and pity 

For fallen martyr and darkened hearth. 

But to Him who gives us beauty for ashes. 
And the oil of joy for mourning long. 

Let thy hills give thanks, and all thy waters 
Break into jubilant vraves of song! 

Bring us the airs of liills and forests, 
The sweet aroma of birch and pine. 

Give us a M^aft of the north-wind laden 
With sweetbrier odors and breath of kine ! 

Bring us the purple of mountain sunsets. 
Shadows of clouds that rake the hills. 

The green repose of thy Plymouth meadows, 
The gleam and ripple of Campton rills. 


Lead us away in sliadow and siinsliinc, 
Slaves of fancy, tlirougli all thy inilcs, 

The windinu: ways of Penlige^A■asset, 
And Winuipisaukee's Imndred isles. 

Shatter in sunshine over thy ledges, 
Laugh in thy plunges from fall to fall ; 

Play Avith thy fringes of elms, and darken 
Under the shade of the mountain Avail. 

The cradle-song of tliy liillsidc fountains 
Here in thy glory and strength repeat; 

Give us a taste of tliy uplaiul music, 
Show us the dance of thy silver feet. 

Into thy dutiful life of uses 

Pour the music and weave the flowers ; 
"With the song of birds and bloom of meadows 

Lighten and gladden thy heart and ours. 

Sing on ! bring down, O lowland river, 
The joy of the hills to the waiting sea ; 

The wealth of the vales, the ])omp of mountains, 
Tlie breath of the woodhnids, bear with thee. 

Here, in tlie calm of thy .seaward valley, 
Mirth and labor shall hold their truce; 

Dance of water and mill of grinding. 
Both are beauty and botli arc use. 

Type of the Northland's strength and glory, 
Pride and hope of our home and race, — 


Frcedoiii lending to rutrgcd labor 
Tints of beauty and lines of grace. 

Once again, O beautiful river. 

Hear our greetings and take our thanks ; 
Hither we come, as Eastern ])ilgrinis 

Throng to the Jordan's saereil banks. 

For though by the Master's feet untrodden, 
Though never his Mord has stilled thy waves, 

Well for us may thy shores be holy, 
AVitli Christian altars and saintly graves. 

And well may wc own thy hint and token 
Of fairer valleys and streams than these, 

Where the rivers of God are full of water, 
And full of sap arc his healing trees ! 

Jo/iii Greenlenf Wh'ittier. 



XCE more on yonder laurelled height 

The summer flowers have budded ; 
Once more with summer's golden light 

The vales of home are flooded; 
And once more, by the grace of Him 

Of every good the Giver, 
We sing upon its wooded rim 

The praises of our river : 


Its i)iiics above, its wavos l)clow, 

Tlic west-wind clown it l)lowing, 
As lair as wlicu the vouii^ lirissot 

Belield it seaward flowing, — 
And l)ore its meniorv o'er tlie deep, 

To soothe a martyr's sadness, 
And IVeseo, in iiis tronbled sleep, 

Ilis prison-walls with gladness. 

"We know the world is rieli with streams 

Renowned in song and story, 
"Whose ninsic mnnnnrs throngh onr dreams 

Of linuian love and glory; 
AVc know that Arno's hanks are fair. 

And Uliine has eastled shadows, 
And, poet-tnned, th;- Doon and Ayr 

Go singing down thf*ir meadows. 

But while, nniiietnrcd and nnsung 

\\\ ])aintcr or by jxH'i, 
Onr river waits tlie tuncl'id tongue 

And eunning hand to show it, — 
AVe only know the fond skies lean 

A))i)ve it, warnj with blessing. 
And the swcv't sonl of our Undine 

Aw.ilvis i ) our can'ssiiiL'". 

rso IicaIi' suu-g')(l holds the lloeks 
That graze its shores in keeping; 

No icy kiss of Dian mocks 
The youth bisidi: it sleeping: 

MEllKI.MAC, tup: KIVER. 57 

Our Christian river lovctli most 

The beautiful and human ; 
The heathen streams of Naiads boast, 

But ours of man and woman. 

The miuer ni his cabin licars 

The ripple we are hearing ; 
It whispers soft to homesick ears 

Around the settler's clearing : 
In Sacramento's vales of corn. 

Or Sautee's bloom of cotton. 
Our river by its vallcv-boni 

"VVas never yet forgotten. 

The drum rolls l«ud, — the bugle fills 

The summer air witli clangor; 
The war-storm shakes the solid hills 

Beneath its tread of anger ; 
Young eyes that last year smiled in ours 

Now point the rifle's barrel, 
And hands then stained with fruits and flowers 

Bear redder stains of quarrel. 

But blue skies smile, and flowers bloom on, 

And rivers still keep flowing, — 
The dear God still his rain and sun 

On good and ill bestowing. 
His pine-trees whisper, " Trust and wait ! " 

His flowers are prophesying 
That all we dread of change or fall 

His love is underlying. 


And th)u, O Mountaiu-l)orii ! — no more 

Wo ask tlir wise Allotter 
Tliaii for I lie (innuoss of thy shore, 

Tlu' caliiuioss of thy water, 
The elieerful lii^lits tliat overlay 

Thy ruirginl slopes with beauty, 
To inateh our si)irits to our day 

And make a joy of duty. 

John Greenleaf Whit tier. 

311(1 fllcsox Count II, Jfass. 
r.Mi, reverf;s ride. 

LISTEN, my ehildreu, and you shall hear 
Of the midiiiLrht ridi- of Paul Revere, 
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-live; 
Hardly a man is now alive 

Who nMneinhtTs th;if f;iiiioiis A:\\ :\\\d year. 

He said to hl■^ in im, ii iiir liriiisii march 
By land or sea from the town to-nitrht, 
Hang a lantern ahtft in the belfry areh 
Of the North Chureh tower as a signal light, 
One, if by land, and two, if by sea ; 
And I on the opposite shore will be. 
Ready to ride and spread the alarm 
Through every Middlesex village and farm, 
For the eountry folk to be np and to arm." 


Then he said, " Good night ! " and with muffled oar 

Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, 

Just as the moon rose over tlie bay, 

Where swinging wide at her moorings lay 

The Somerset, British man-of-war ; 

A phantom ship, with each mast aud spar 

Aeross the moon like a prison bar, 

And a liuge black hulk, that was magnified 

By its own retlcction in the tide. 

Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street, 
"Wanders aud watches with eager ears. 
Till in the silence around him he hears 
The muster of men at the barrack door. 
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet. 
And the measured tread of the grenadiers, 
Marching down to their boats on the sliore. 

Then he climbed the tower of the Old Xorth Church, 

By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread. 

To the belfry-chamber overhead, 

Aud startled the pigeons from their perch 

On the souibre rafters, that round him made 

Masses and moving shapes of shade, — 

By the trembling ladder, steep aud tall, 

To the highest window in the wall. 

Where he paused to listen and look down 

A moment on the roofs of the town. 

And the moonlight flowing over all. 

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, 
In their night-encampment on the hill. 
Wrapped in silence so deep aud still 


That lie coulil liear, like a sriitiiu'l's troad, 

The watclirul niixlit-wiiul, as it went 

Civcping iiUnv^ (win triit to trut, 

And srrming to uliisprr, " All is well ! " 

A iiioiiuMit only he feels the spell 

Of the plaee and ti»c hour, and tlu- >v{-\r\ dread 

Of the lonely belfry and the dead ; 

For suddenly all his thoughts are bent 

On a shadowy something far away, 

AViicre the river widens to meet the bay, — 

A line of black that bends aiid fltxits 

On the rising tide, like a bridgt; of boats. 

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, 
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride 
On the oj)i)osite shore walked I'aul lievcre. 
Now he ])attcd his liorse's side. 
Now gazed at the landscape far and near, 
Tiien, impetuous, stamped the earth, 
And turned and tightened ins saddle-girth ; 
liut mostly he watched witii eager search 
Tiic bclfry-tower of the Old North Church, 
As it rose al) jvc the gnives on the hill, 
Lonely and spcctnd and sombre and still. 
And lo ! as he looks, on the belfry's height 
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light ! 
He •springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, 
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight 
A second *lami» in the belfry burns I 

A hurry of hoofs in a village street. 

A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, 


And beucath, from tlic pebbles, in passing, a spark 

Struck out by a steed %iug fearless and fleet : 

That "svas all ! And j^t, through the gloom and the 

The fate of a nation was riding that night ; 
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, 
Kindled the land into flame with its heat. 

He has left the village and mounted the ^teep, 
And beneatli him, tranqidl and broad and deep, 
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides ; 
And under the alders, that skirt its edge, 
Now soft on the sand, now loud ou the ledge. 
Is heard the tramp of liis steed as he rides. 
It was twelve by the village clock 
Wiicn he crossed the bridge into Medford town. 
He heard the crowing of the cock, 
And the barking of tlie farmer's dog, 
And felt the damp of the river fog. 
That rises after the sun goes down. 

It was one by the village clock. 

When he galloped into Lexington. 

He saw the gilded weathercock 

Swim in the moonlight as he passed, 

And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, 

Gaze at him with a spectral glare. 

As if they already stood aghast 

At the bloody work they would look upon. 

It was two by the village clock, 

When he came to the bridi?e in Concord town. 


He lioard tlio hlcatinc: of the flock, 
And tlio twitter of l)ir(ls amoiii,' tlic trees, 
And felt tlje bivath of the morning breeze 
Blowing over the meadows brown. 
And one was safe and asleep in his .bed 
AViio at the bridge wonld be first to fall, 
Who tliat day wonUl be lying dead, 
Pierced by a Biitisli mnsket-ball. 

You know the rest. In the books you have read, 
How tlie British Regulars fired and fled, — 
IIow tlu' farmers gave them ball for ball, 
From behind each fence* and farm-yard wall, 
*Ci»asing the red-coats down the lane, 
Tlicn crossing the fields to emerge again 
Under the trees at the turn of the road, 
And only i)ausing to fire and load. 

So throiigh the night rode Paul Revere ; 

And so tlirongii the night went his cry of alarm 

To every Middlesex village and farm, -— 

A cry of defiance and not of fear, 

A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door. 

And a word that shall echo forcvennon ' 

For, borne on thi' night-wind of the Past, 

ThrcMigh all our history, to the last, 

In tiie hour of darkness and peril and need, 

Tiie people will waken ami listen to hear 

The hurrying hoof-bcats of that steed, 

And the midnight message of Paul 'Revere. 

Henry Wadsworth Lonfjfellow. 


Milton, Mass. 


ONLY ten miles from the city, — 
And how I am lifted away 
To the peace that passeth knowing, 
And the light that is not of day ! 

All alone on the hill-top ! 

Nothing but God and me, 
And the spring-time's resuiTection, 

Far shinings of the sea, 

The river's langh in the valley, \ 
Hills dreaming of their past; I 

And all things silently opening, 
Opening into the vast ! 

Eternities past and future 
Seem clinging to all I see. 

And things immortal cluster 
Around my bended knee. 

That pebble — is older than Adam! 

Secrets it hath to tell; 
These rocks — they cry out history, 

Could I but listen well. 

That pool knows the ocean-feeling 
Of storm and moon-led tide : 


The sun fiiuls its cast ami west therein, 
And tlie stiirs luid room to glide. 

Tliat lichen's crinkled circle 

fStill creeps witli the Lite Divine, 

AVlicre tlic llolv Spirit loitered 

On its uay to this face of mine, — 

On its way to the shining faces 

"Where angcl-lives are led; 
And I am tlie lichen's circle, 

Tliat creeps with tiny tread. 

1 can hear these violets chonis 
To the sky's benediction above; 

And we all air togctiier lying 
On the lK)som of Inlinite Love. 

1 — I am a ])art of the ])ocm, 

Of its every sight and sonnd, 
]For my heart beats inward rhymings 

To the Sal)l)ath that lies around. 

Oil. the ))eaee at the heart of Nature! 

Oh, the liglit that is not of day I 
"WUs seek it afar forever, 

When it cauuot be lifted awayr 

If'illiam CluiniiDuj iutiinett. 

minot's ledge. 65 

Minot's Ledge, Mass. 


LIKE spectral liouiids across the sky. 
The white clouds scud befoie the storm ; 
And uaked in the howling night 
The red-eyed lighthouse lii'ts its form. 
The waves with slii)pery fingers clutch 
The massive tower, and climb and fall, 
And, muttering, growl with baffled rage 
Their curses on the sturdy wall. 

Up in the lonely tower he sits, 
The keeper of the crimson light : 
Silent and awestruck does he hear 
The imprecations of the night. 
The white spray beats against the panes 
Like some wet ghost that down the air 
Is hunted by a troop of fiends. 
And seeks a shelter anywhere. 

He prays aloud, the lonely man, 

Eor every soul that night at sea, 

But more than all for that brave boy 

"VYlio used to gayly clhnb his knee, — 

Young Charlie, with liis chestnut hair 

And hazel eyes and laughing hp. 

" May Heaven look down," the old man cries, 

" Upon my son, and on his ship ! " 


"Wliilc llius witli pious licart lio prays, 
Far ill tlir distance sounds a boom : 
Hi* pauses : and ai^ain there rini^s 
That sulK'u lluiiider through tlie room. 
A shi|> upon tlie slioals to-ni<i^ht ! 
She eannot hold tor one liall'-hour ; 
But eh'ar the ropi's and ijrni])plin,i;-liooks, 
And trust in tlie Almighty Power! 

On the drcnclu'd gallery he stands, 

Striving to pieree the solid night : 

Across the sea the red eye throws 

A steady crimson wake of light ; 

And, where it falls upon the waves. 

He sees a human head float by, 

"With long drcnehcd curls of chestnut hair, 

And wild i)ut fearless hazel eye. 

(Jut with the hooks! One mighty fling! 
Adown the wind the long rope curls. 
Oh, will it ealeh ? Ah, dread suspense! 
"While the wild ocean wilder whirls. 
A steady jxill ; it tightens now: 
Oh ! his old iiearl will burst with joy, 
As on the slii)pery rocks he pulls 
The breathing Ixxly of his boy. 

Still sweep the spccti-cs through the sky; 
Still scud t he clouds before the storm ; 
Still naked in the howling night 
The red-eyed lighthouse lifts its form. 


Without, tlic world is ^^ iUl with rage ; 
Unkeiiiiellecl demons are abroad : 
But with tlie father and the son 
Withiu, there is the peace of God. 

Fit:: -James O'Brien. 

Monadnock, the Jlouiifain, N'. H, 


THOUSAND minstrels woke within me, 
"Our music's in the hills": — 
Gayest pictures rose to win me, 

Leopard-colored rills. 
" Up ! If thou kuew'st who calls 
To twilight parks of beech and pine. 
High over the river intervals, 
Above the ploughman's highest line. 
Over the owner's farthest walls ! 
Up ! where the airy citadel 
O'erlooks the surging landscape's swell ! 
Let not unto the stones the Day 
Her lily and rose, her sea and laud display ] 
Read the celestial sign ! 
Lo ! the south answers to the north ; 
Bookworm, break this sloth urbane ; 
A greater spirit bids thee forth 
Than the gay dreams which thee detain. 
Mark how the climbinsr Oreads 

GS roKMs or tlaces. 

Beckon thcc to their arcades ! 
Youtli, for a moment free as they, 
Teaeli thy feet to feel tlie ground, 
Krc yet arrives the wintry day 
"When Time tliy feet lias bound. 
Take the bounty of tiiy birth, 
Taste the lordshij) of the earth." 

1 heard, and I obeyed, — 
Assured tiiat he who made the claim, 
Well known, but lovini; not a mime, 

AVas nut to be gainsaid. 

Ere yet the summoning voice was still, 

I turned to Cheshire's haughty hill. 

From the fi.xed cone the cloud-mck flowed 

Like ample banner flung abroad 

To all the. dwellers in ti»e plains 

Round about, a hundred miles, 

With salutati(jn to the sea, and to the bordering isl-s. 

In his own loom's garment drc^^^'l, 
By Ids ])roj)er bounty bles.scd. 
Fast abides tiiis constant giver, 
Pouring many a eheerfid river; 
To far eyes, an aerial isle 
Unjjloughed, Mhieh liner spirits pile, 
Which morn and crimson evening i)aiut 
For bard, for lover, and for saint ; 
The people's pride, the country's core, 
Inspirer, prophet evermore; 
rniar xvl.I.h f; .d :.1..ft had set 


So that men miglit it not forget; 
It should be their life's oruameut, 
And mix itself with each event ; 
Gauge and calendar and dial, 
Weatherglass and chemic phial, 
Garden of berries, perch of birds, 
Pasture of pool-hauuting herds. 

* * * 

On the summit as I stood, 
O'er the floor of plain and flood 
Seemed to mc, the towering hill 
Was not altogether still. 
But a quiet sense conveyed; 
If I err not, thus it said: — 

"Many feet in summer seek. 

Oft, my far-appeariug peak; 

In the dreaded winter-time, 

None save dappling shadows climb 

Under clouds, my lonely head. 

Old as the sun, old almost as the shade. 

And comest thou 

To see strange forests and new snow. 

And tread uplifted laud? 

And leavest thou thy lowland race. 

Here amid clouds to stand? 

And wouldst be my companion 

Where I gaze, and still shall gaze. 

Through hoarding nights and spending days. 

When forests fall, and man is gone. 

Over tribes and over times, 

70 ror.M-S Ol I'LACKS. 

At the l)iiriiiiii; i>yro, 

"Witli its stars of nortliern fire, 
In many a tlumsaiul years? 

* » • 

" ^fonaclnock is a ninuntaiii strong, 
Tall and i^ood my kind anion<^; 
But MC'U 1 know, no mountain c-au, 
Zion or Morn, measure with man. 
For it is on zodiacs .writ, 
Adamant is soft to wit: 
And when the greater comes again 
"With my secret in his brain, 
I shall pass, as glides my shadow 
Daily over hill and meadow. 

'* Thnnigh all time, in light, in gloom, 

AVell 1 hear the approaching feet 

On the flinty pathway beat 

Of him that cometh, and shall come; 

Of iiim who shall as lightly bear 

My daily load of woods and streams, 

As doth this round sky-cleaving boat 

Which never strains its rocky beams; 

"Whose tind)ers, as they silent Hoat, 

Alps and Caucasus ni)rear. 

And the long AUeghanies here, 

And all town-sprinkled lands that be. 

Sailing throui^^h stars with all their history. 

•' Every morn I lift my head, 
See New England underspread. 


Soiitli from Saiiit Lawrence to tlie Sound, 
From Katskill east to the sea-bound. 
Anchored fast for many an age, 
I await the bard and sage, 
"Who, in large tlioughts, like fair pearl-seed. 
Shall string ^lonadnock like a bead. 
* * * 

He comes, but not of that race bred 
^Vlio daily climb my specular head. 
Oft as morning wreathes my scarf. 
Fled the last plumule of the Dark, 
Pants lip hither the spruce clerk 
From South Cove and City AVharf. 
I take him up my rugged sides, 
Half-repentant, scant of breath, — 
Bead-eyes my granite chaos show. 
And my midsummer snow; 
Open the daunting map beneath, — 
All his county, sea and land, 
Dwarfed to measure of his hand; 
His day's ride is a furlong space, 
His city-tops a glimmering haze. 
I plant his eyes on the sky hoop bounding; 
" See there the grim gray rounding 
Of the bullet of the earth 
Whereon ye sail, 
Tumbling steep 
In the imcoutinented deep." 
He looks on that, and he turns pale. 
'Tis even so, this treacherous kite. 
Farm-furrowed, town-incrusted sphere. 


Tlu)Ui;lillrss of its anxious freight, 

riungi's cvclcss on fotvvcr ; 

And he, poor |Kinisitc, 

Coo|ud in a slii|) he cannot steer, — 

Who is the raptain he knows not, 

Port or i)ilot tnjws not, — 

Kisk or ruin he must share. 

1 seowl on him witli mv eU)ud, 

AVitli my north-wind eliill his blood; 

I lame him, clattering down the rocks; 

And to live he is in fear. 

Then, at last, 1 let him down 

Once more into his dapjK'r town. 

To chatter, frightened to his elan. 

And forget mc if lie can." 

Ralph WnJilo j:,n,-,:x.;i. 


TTrON the far-olT njountain's hrow 

vJ The angry storm has ceased to beat, 

An<l bn»kcn elotids arc gathering now 

In snlltii rcven-ncj' round his feet; 
I .saw their <lark and crowded bands 

In iI.uihI 1 oil his breast descending; 
But more redeemed he stand.s. 

And iit.i\( II s clcjir arch is o'er him Ix'nding. 

I 've seen him when the morning sun 

Bunicd likr .1 on thr llciL'llt ; 


I 've seen liim "when the day was done, 
Bathed hi the evening's crimson light. 

I 've seen him at the midnight honr, 

When all the world were calmly sleeping, 

Like some stern sentry in his tower, 
His weary watch in silence keeping. . 

And there, forever firm and clear, 

His lofty turret upward springs ; 
He owns no rival summit near. 

No sovereign but the King of kings. 
Thousands of nations have passed by. 

Thousands of years unknown to story, 
And still his aged walls on high 

He rears, in melancholy glory. 

The proudest works of human hands 

Live but an age before they fall; 
While that severe and hoary tower 

Outlasts the mightiest of them all. 
And man himself, more frail, by far, 

Than eten the works his hand is raising. 
Sinks downward, like the falling star 

That flashes, and expires in blazing. 

And all the treasures of the heart. 
Its loves and sorrows, joys and fears, 

Its hopes and memories, must depart 
To sleep with unremembered years. 

But still that ancient rampart stands 

Unchanged, though years are passing o'er him ; 


And time witlidraws his powerless hands, 
AVhile ajjcs melt away before him. 

So should it be, — for no heart beats 

Within his cold and silent breast; 
To him no gentle voice repeats 

The soothing words that make us blest. 
And more than this, — his deep repose 

Is troubled by no thoughts of sorrow ; 
He hath no weary eyes to close. 

No cause to hope or fear to-morrow. 

Farewell I 1 go my distant way; 

Perchance, in some succeeding years, 
The eyes that know no cloud to-day 

May gaze upon thee dim with tears. 
Then may thy calm, unaltcring form 

Insj)ire in me the (inn endeavor, 
liike thee, to meet each lowering storm, 

Till HIV and sorrow end forever. 

irHliam Bourne Oliver Peabodt/. 

Mos/ia.ssnrk, the River, //. /. 
A sKPTrMnni evening on the banks of the 


4 <iAlA September's golden day, 
-i-i- Serenely still, intensely bright, 
Tades on the innbercd hills away, 
And melts into the coming night. 


Again Mosliassuck's silver tide 
Reflects eacli green herb on its side, 
Each tasselled wreath and tangling vine 
Whose tendrils o'er its margin tAvine. 

And, standing on its velvet shore, 

Where yesternight with thee I stood, 
I trace its devious course once more, 

Far winding on through vale and wood. 
Now glimmering through 3-on golden mist, 
Bj the last glinting sunbeams kissed. 
Now lost where lengthening shadows fall 
From hazel-copse and moss-fringed Avail. 

Near where yon rocks the stream inurn 

The lonely gentian blossoms still. 
Still wave the star-flower and the fern 

O'er the soft outline of the hill; 
While far aloft, where pine-trees throw 
Their shade athwart the sunset glow, 
Thin vapors cloud the illumined air, 
And parting daylight lingers there. 

But, ah, no longer tliou art near 

This varied loveliness to see. 
And I, though fondly lingering here. 

To-night can only think on thee; — 
The flowers thy gentle hand caressed 
Still lie unwithered on my breast. 
And still thy footsteps print the shore 
Where thou and I may rove no more. 


Agniu 1 hear tlic inurnuiriiig fall 
Of water from soino disUiut dell, 

The beetle's hum, the crieket's call, 
Ami, far away, that evening bell, — 

Again, jigain those sounds 1 hear, 

l?ut, oh, how desohitc and drear 

They seem to-night, — how like a kucll 

The music of tliut evening bell ! 

Again the new moon in the west, 

Scarce seen uikju yon golden sky, 
Hangs o'er the mountain's purple crest 

"With one pale planet trembling nigh, — 
And beautiful her j)early light 
As when we blessed its beams List night, 
But thou art on the far blue sea. 
And I can only think of thee. 

Harah Helen Whitman 

Mount Jhsert, Me. 


CiKIM mountain Sprite !• that, robed in woods, 
I Dost sit among these hills, their rightful king, 
Forgive the wiglit who rashly dares 

To vex thy silence with his questioning. 

Adnwn thy steep and niiri;*d flanks 
The bbck fir glooms nml the pale aspens quiver. 


And o'er tliy glistening, wind-swept cliffs 
The mossy, perfumed streamlets leap forever. 

We call .to tliee : our feeble cry 

Dies 'gainst the rocky faces of thy throne ; 
And from thy shaggy bosom comes 

Thine answer, deep- voiced as an organ-tone. 

In that broad breast no human heart 

To human pulses answereth again : 
The wandering wi-etch, in wood-paths lost, 

To thy stern face for pity looks in vain. 

Within that sphinx-hke face we fain 

Would read the riddle of life's fleeting story, — 
Thy calm eternal would we grasp, 

And gild our gloom with thy far-shining glory. 

But thou ! thou gazest on the sea. 

With fir-crowned, stony brow that changes never : 
We leave thee, in dumb mystery. 

Dread sprite ! to heave that hoary bulk forever. 



TI7ITH jocund friends -the island's mount I climb 

' ' To kindred gladness that, beyond the wood 
Whose pines are heavy with the solitude, 
Sacks aU the space of sea and sky subUme. 

Rocks, left austere by winter, laugh again 
With sweet and happy hearts at summer-tide ; 


O'er rlilT ami Icdtre and w;\vc jyocs laucrlitcr wide, 
As o'er the sea noon's jK-ltintr silver rain. 

A Hock of little sails hrlow a|)i)ears 

To forage all along the shining waste ; 

Now Imddled, and now scattering, without haste, 

For nioniing waifs, like sea-birds, each one steers. 

Of all the sails that catoli the sun, and smile, 
Tiiere 's one that takes my own mood out to sea : 
Its laughing side is hidden on the lec; 
Its shadow taeks to windward all the while. 

Mid all the gladness, just a faint reserve 
Waftb me apart, hut not to scowl and gloom ; 
Tiic world's wide hiugliter kee]>s mc in its room, - 
My shadow is not sliarp enough to swerve. 

'Tis but the thickness of a sail between. 

A cloud has caught its buoyant, gilded woof, 

Too thin to kee|) I lie sailor's iieart aloof: 

He's comrade still of all the haj)|)y scene. 

Jo /in Weiss. 

r,RK.\T 1IF,.M>. 

TIIK groimd-pine Hung its caqK-t on the sice)). 
As in and out, along tiie dinted shore 
We crept, the surf-beat secrets to explore. 
And map the isle for aft<Tthouglit to keep. 

And when we paused, to brood with talk and pipe 
Upon the color of the cliffs and sky, 


To Tvatch liglit glooms of breezes scurvy bj, 
And let each ucw surprise grow faucy-ripe, 

Between the rocks we found our carpet spread ; 
From the far softness, where the sky and sea 
In act of perfect marriage seemed to be, 
The afternoon along the deep was led. 

Against the seaward reefs, from time to time, 
Some wave, more bold and eager than its mates, 
Runs up, all white with hurrying, and waits. 
And clings, as to a rugged verse the rhyme; 

And falling back as slowly as a strain 
That sings a mood we fear will shp away. 
Our eyes, released, toward each other stray. 
And climb, and cling, and act the wave again. 

In lulls of speech the coast begins to croon : 
Our thought and glance the far horizon sip ; 
And leagues of freshness break upon each lip 
In tangled drift of mirth and talk and tune. 

Tired lids of distance fall; between, a stripe 
Of mornings clear, a memory, remains. 
This eve we sit apart ; the autumn gains ; 
The cricket's reverie must share my pipe. 

John Weiss. 


Mount Ilnpo, li, L 

KiS(i riiiLir. 

.\ l\jk;iuukrr.s height 

Vll litV is hushcil brneatli tlic suminor heat ; 
No huinuu step is hoard from inoni to niglit, 
And ctIu) can npcat 
Nauf,'lit but the lonely lisli-hawk's pioreinj^ screams, 

As s\vf)oj)in^ downward to the placid l)ay, 
To touch the water's l)reast he scarcily seems, 

Tlirn .slow Hies homcwaixl with his struj^gling prey, 
Wlierc mate and clamorous youn*,' hang eager o'rr 
Their nest ui)on tlie l)histed sycamore. 
Yon little grove of trees 
Waves souiuUess in the breeze 
Tliat wanders down the slope; 
Iluslud by the countless memories 
Which cluster round thy crest, renowned Mount Hope 

il'iw fair the scene ! 
The city's gleaming spires, the clustering towns, 
Tlie modest villa^'es, half hid in green, 

S ^i liills and gnissy down.s, 
The dark-blue waves of Narrag:insett Bay, 

Flecked with the snow Hakes of an bundn^d sail, 
And, southward, iu the distance, cold and gn»y, 
Newport lies sleepiiig in her fo?--" 


Beyond the eastern Avaves, 
IVliere Taimtou River laves 
The harbor's sandy edges. 
Queen of a thousand iron slaves, 
Eall River nestles in her granite ledges. 

When here King Philip stood. 
Or rested in the niche vre call his throne, 
He looked o'er hill and vale and swelling flood,, 

Which once were all his own. 
Before the M'hite man's footstep, day by day, 

As the sea-tides encroach upon the sand. 
He saw his proud possessions melt away, 
And found himself a king without a land. 
Constrained by unknown laws. 
Judged guilty without cause. 
Maddened by treachery, 
What wonder that his tortured spirit rose. 
And turned upon his foes. 
And told his wrongs in words that still we see 
Recorded on the page of history. 



THE morning air was freshly breathing, 
The morning mists were wildly wreathing ; 
Day's earliest beams were kindling o'er 
The wood-crowned hills and murmuring shore. 
'Twas summer; and the forests threw 

H'2 1'<)i;m> ok I'LAt I.>. 

Tlu'ir rhockrnnl s1ui|m's of varviii!< hue, 
In miui^linc:, clKintrcful shadows soon, 
O'er liill ami hank, and headland ^rccu. 
lilitho birds wcrc carollinj^ on high 
Their matin music to the sky, 
As «?lanrrd their brilliant hues alonj^, 
Fillina: the j^roves with life and song; 
All innoeent and wild and free 
Their sweet, ethereal minstrelsy. 
The dew-dn)p sparkled on the spray. 
Danced on th<' wave the inconstant ray ; 
And moody grief, with dark control, 
There only swaved the liuman soul! 

With equal swell, above the flood, 
The forest -cinctured moimtain st<K>d ; 
Its eastward clifTs, a nimpaii wild. 
Koek above rock snbliniely piled. 
What scenes of beauty met his eye. 
The watchful sentinel on high ! 
With all its i.sles and inlets lay 
lieneath, the calm, majestic l)ay ; 
Like molten gold, all glittering sjjread. 
AVhere the clear sun his inlluenee shed; 
In wrcathy, crisiW'd l)rilliance borne, 
While lauffhed the radiance of the mom. 
Kound rocks, that from the hemllands far 
Their barriers rean'd, with murmuring war. 
The chalinar stream, in eddying play. 
Fretted and dashed its foamy spray ; 
Along the shelving sands its swell 


With liuslicd and equal cadence fell; 
And here, l)eneath the wliisperilig grove, 
Ran rippling in the shadowy cove. 
Thy thickets with their liveliest hue, 
Aquetnet green ! were fair to view; 
Par curved the winding shore, where rose 
Pocasset's hills in calm repose ; 
Or where descending rivers gave , 
Their tribute to the ampler wave. 
Emerging frequent from the tide, • 
Scarce noticed mid its waters wide. 
Lay Hushed with morning's roseate smile. 
The gay bank of some little isle; 
Where the lone heron plumed his wing. 
Or spread it as in act to spring. 
Yet paused, as if delight it gave 
To bend above the glorious wave. 

James Wallis Ensthurn. 


Mor5T Hope, the highest headland iu Rhode Island, was the ancient 
seat of Metacomet, — "King Philip," — the indomitaljle chief of the 
Wampanoags. When, after a long and bloody war, lie was conquered and 
killed at last, his wife — Queen Wootonekanusky — was di-agged from 
her home on Mount Hope, and sold into slavery in Barbadoes. 


STROLL through verdant fields to-day, 
Through waving woods and pastures sweet. 
To the red warrior's ancient seat 
Where hquid voices of the bay 
Babble iu tropic tongues around its rocky feet. 

>1 POK.Ms nr ri.wY.'^. 

i jMji ... -r ; 

1 ir; 

Ami til iir by stair, 

Aud slaud V i-c kiiijj 

Stood and with eje of hawk cleft the blue round of air 

(hi Xarragausctt's suiiuy bwast 

This ncckbcc of fair inlands »hone, 
And Pliilip, muttrriiig. " All my own ! " 
LKiokcil north and south and cast aud west, 
Aud waved his sceptre from this akbostcr throne. 

His beacon on Pocasset hi! 


Blo/^od as the windows of you null 

\..1V ).1>/.. ..t v.-l i.r villi ultll i1i\'« ..\n!rin.r fl . ii iP 

Alwu^.H. at 

An .._ 


mm tt eliiud. 

:i.m1 )it>vt liii'j iilirh 

1 I'lim. 
nt sky ! 

Tlic W 

U' HI, 

iismI to clinjr. 

i ingry Ftaihp'i 


• 1 i . 

—the spectre of the king 


All things are clicauged. Here Bristol sleeps 
Aud dreams witliiu her emerald teut ; 
Yonder are picnic tables bent 
Beneath their burden; up the steeps 
The martial strains arise and songs of meniment. 

I pluck an aster on the crest ; 
It is a child of one, I know, 
• Plucked here two hundred years ago, 
And worn upon the slave-queen's breast, — 
0, that this blossom had a tongue to tell its woe ! 

JF. A. Croffut 

Mount Pleasant, He. 


'rp WAS a glorious scene, — the mountain height 
i- Aflame with sunset's colored Hght. 

Even the black pines, grim and old, 
Transfigured stood with crowns of gold. 

There on a hoary crag we stood 

When the tide of glory was at its flood. 

^ 'Close by our feet, the mountain's child, 
The delicate harebell, swcetlv smiled. 


- 'Lifting its cu|>s of toiidtr blue 

Fn*)!!! scam and rift wliert* the mosses grew. 

The everlasting's mimic snow 
Whitened the dry, crisp grass Ixlow ; 

While the yellow flames of i;olden-nKl 
Through clum|)s of starry asters glowetl, 

And the sumach's ruddy tires burned through 
Tangled hazels of tawny hue. 

' lielow stn'tched wide the skirt of wood 
Where the maj)le's gn-en was dashed with blood ; 

Where the beech had donned a golden brown, 
And the ash was sad in a purple gown, 

And the st might birch stems gleamed white between 
The sombre spruces, darkly ga-eu. 

('las|)ing the mountain's very feet, 
The small lake lay, a picture sheet, 

Where the pomp of sunset cloud and shine 
Glowed in a setting of dark old pine. 

_ Far in the west blue peaks arose, — 
One with a crest of glittering snows, — 

\\ .11 and valley and wood iM'twcen, 

And lakes transfused with the sunset sheen. 
• • • 

Rote SoMbori. 

N AH ANT. 87 

Nahant, Mass, 


I LAY upon the headlaud-lieiglit, and listened 
To the incessant sobbing of the ^ea 
In caverns under me, 
And watched the waves, that tossed and fled and 

Until the rolling meadows of amethyst 
Melted away in mist. 

Then suddenly, as one from sleep, I started; 
For round about me all the sunny capes 

Seemed peopled with the shapes 
Of those whom I had known in days departed. 
Apparelled in the loveliness which gleams 

On faces seen in dreams. 

A moment only, and the light and glory 
Faded away, and the disconsolate shore 

Stood lonely as before ; 
And the wild-roses of the promontory 
Around me shuddered in the wind, and shed 

Their petals of pale red. ^ 

There was an old belief that in the embers 
Of all things their primordial form exists. 
And cunning- alchemists 

88 roKMs OF iM,A( 1 s. 

Could rc-cicaU' the rose witli all its members 
From its own aslics, but witliout tiic bloom, 
"Without the lost perfume. 


Ah me ! what wonder-working, occult science I 

Can from the ashes in our hearts once more ^ 

The rose of vouth restore? 
Wliat cnift of aleiicmy can bid defiance 
To time and elianji^e, and for a sin-j-lr hour 

llcncw this phantom-flower h 

"O, give me back,'' 1 cried, "the vanished splcndoi-s, 
The breath of morn, and the exultant strife, 

AVhen the swift stream of life 
Bounds o'er its rocky channel, and surrenders 
The pond, with all its lilies, for the leap 

Into the unknown deep!" 

And the sea answered, with a lamentation, 
Like some old jjrophet wailing, and it said, 

"Alas! thy youth is dead! 
It breathes no more, its heart has no i)ulsation ; 
In the dark plaers with the dead of old 

It lirs f,,nN,.- .Jii:" 

i iii'ii s.iiu 1. ri"i)iii lis (•(iii>.cci;iltti (•riiiiniii> 
I will n(it dmtr this sacred dust again, 

le jKiin ; 
I ring all the lost eodc^rmeuts, 

(»o oil my way, like ouc who looks l)cfore, 
And turns to weep no more." 


Into wlmt land of harvests, wliat plantations 
Bright with autumnal foliage and the glow 

Of sunsets burning low; 
Beneath what midnight skies, whose constellations 
Light up the spacious avenues between 

This world and the unseen ! 

Amid what friendly greetings and caresses, 
What households, though not alien, yet not mine. 

What bowers of rest divine; 
To what temptations in lone wildernesses. 
What famine of the heart, what pain and loss. 

The bearing of what cross ! 

I do not know ; nor will I vainly question 
Those pages of the mystic book which hold 

The story still untold. 
But without rash conjecture or suggestion 
Turn its last leaves in reverence and good heed. 

Until " The End " I read. 

Henry Wadsioorth Longfellow. 


TO G. W. C. AXD C. P. C. 

THE hours on the old piazza 
That overhangs the sea 
With a tender and pensive sweetness 
At times steal over me; 


roEM>s ut l'LAtJ;s. 

Anil air.iin o'er tlic balcony Icaniiip^, 

Wo list to the surf on the beach, 
Tluit nils with its soKmuh warning ] 

The iiitcr\aN of -ntccli. 

\\ <■ tiin'c Ml ;ii iiiLTui m tnc iiiDoiuiLriit, 

As wc sat in the sunnner j:onc, 
Anil we talk of art and nature. 

Anil sing as we sit al«)nc; 
We sing the old songs of Sorrento, 

AVhere oranges hang o'er the sea, 
And our hearts arc tender with dreaming 

Of days that no more shall be. 

llow gayly the hours went with us 

In those old days that ai-e gone, 
Ah I would we were all together, 

AVhere now 1 am standing alone. 
Could life be again so pi-rfect ? 

Ah, never! these years so drain 
The heart of its freshness of feeling, 

But 1 long, though the longing be vain. 

William H'etmore Story. 



I STAND again on the ia miliar shore. 
And hear the waves of the distracted sea 
Piteously calling and lamenting thee, 
And waiting restless at thy cottage door. 
The rocks, the seaweed on the ocean floor, 
The willows in the meadow, and the free . 
Wild winds of the Atlantic welcome me; 
Then why shouldst thou be dead, and come no more? 
Ah, M'hy shouldst thou be dead, when common men 
Are busy with their trivial affairs. 
Having and holding? Why, when thou hadst read 
Nature's mysterious manuscript, and then 
Wast ready to reveal the truth it bears. 
Why art thou silent ? Why shouldst thou be dead ? 
Henry Wadsicorth Loufffellow. 

Ncuitasket, Mass. 


FAIR is thy face, Xantasket, 
And fair thy curving shores, — 
The peering spires of villages. 
The boatman's dipping oars, 
The lonely ledge of Minot, 

Where the watchman tends his light, 


And sets liis perilous boacon, 
A star ill tlic stormiest uight. 

Over tliy vast sea liia^liway 

The prreat sliijis slide from siglit. 
And (looks of winjjivl phruitoms 

Flit by, like birds in fli«;ht. 
Over the toi)j>linir s.a-wall 

The honic-l)ouiid dories float. 
And I watch the pHtiriit fisherman 

Bend in his anelnnd bojit. 

I am alone witli Natun^ ; 

Wit!» tlie ^lad S pt Mnbcr day. 
The leaning; hills ah ivc mc 

With goldtMi-rod arc j^y, 
Across the fiilds of etlicr 

FUt butterflies at play, 
And eones of parnet sumach 

Glow down the cjuntry way. 

The autumn d i;i I !i .11 

Along the 1 irns ; 

Down fnim tli /i' 1 1:1 d bowlders 

Quiver tlif pluiiu'l ferns; 
Th< \h" milkweed 

J en pod; 

Out from the mossy rock-scams 

J 11 .1 golden-rod. 

in i:l;t banners 

1 . 1 towers of stone; 


The wan, wild morning-glory 

Dies by the road alone; 
By the hill-path to the seaside 

Wave myriad azure bells ; 
And over the grassy ramparts lean 

The milky immortelles. 

Hosts of gold-hearted daisies 

Nod by the wayside bars ;" 
The tangled thicket of green is set 

With the aster's purple stars; 
Beside the brook the gentian 

Closes its fringed eyes, 
And waits the later glory 

Of October's yellow skies. 

Witliin the sea-washed meadow 

The wild grape climbs the wall, 
And from the o'er-ripe chestnuts 

The brown burs softly fall. 
I see the tall" reeds sliiver 

Beside the salt sea marge; 
I see the sea-bird gliiumer. 

Far out on airy barge. 

I hear in the groves of Hingham 

The friendly caw of the crow, 
Till I sit again in "Waclnisett's woods, 

In August's sumptuous glow. 
The tiny boom of the beetle 

Strikes the shining rocks below ; 
The gauzy oar of the dragon-fly 

Is beatinor to and fro. 

9i r<)KM> oi i'i,A( i:s. 

As tlif lovely ^host of the thistle 

Goes sailiiit; softly hy; 
Giad ill its scooiul suininor 
• Hums the awakfiiod Hy ; 

The cumulate cry of the cricket 

Tierces the amher noon; 
In from the vast sea-spaces comes 

The clear call of ti»e loon; 
Over ami lhrou:,'h it all I lirar 

Ocean's pervasive run. 

Ag^iiust tlie warm sea-beaches 

Kush the wavelets' eager lips; 
Away o'er the sapj)hire ri'aehes 

!Move on the stately ships. 
Peace floats on all their p imons. 

Sailing; silently tlu; main, 
As if never huuian aui^uish, 

As if never human pain, 
Soujrht the healing dn^ni^ht of Lcthc, 

IV V'..., I flv ^Icamiiig |)lain. 

iair i-s tlir earth behind nic, L^u*^ 

Vast is the si'a before, 
Away through the misty dimness 

GUuimcrs a further shore. 
It is no realui enchanted, 

It ( ' njore fair 

Than . of Nature's Kingdom, 

Witii its spell of sjxice and air. 


Nantucket, Mass. 


In the old wlialing days, Avlien a sliip was homeward bound with a 
fair wind, it was a comniou saying among the men that the girls of Nan- 
tucket were pulling the rope to draw them home. 

THE land breaks out, like a gleam of liope, 
Over the ocean foam, 
But its daughters no longer are pulling the rope 
That 's bringing her sailors home. 

Her whalers lie rotting, and lone and drear, 

Far in some foreign port : 
They have laid there rusting for many a year, 

Of water and wind the sport. 

The decks are piled with the winter snows, 

The men are scattered, — ah me ! 
No masthead ^echoes to " There she blows ! " 

Tar out in the Okhotsk Sea. 

But her hearts are as tried, and her men as true. 

As, when trimming the distant sail. 
They passed their lives on the waters blue, 

In hunting the Bow Head Whale. 

Her daughters are pure and sweet and fair, 

And cheerful and kind and good. 
And sparkling water and sparkling air 

Shine out in their changeful mood. 

* * :? 

J^. Xonnan Gunnison. 

90 POKMS OF rLA( i:s. 

X(ri'ni(i(tns('tt Pxij/, IL 1, 


TIIK sun is siukiiij^ fnun the sky 
III calm and clouillrss majesty; 
And cooler lioui-s, witli j^cntlc sway, 
SiKcced the liery lieat of day. 
Ftiifst and .shore and ri|)i)lini3: tide 
Confess the cvcnin';*s influence wide, 
S:*en lovelier in that fadin<^ light 
That hendds the nppruaehiug "ig'it ; 
That niapc colorinj^ Nature throws. 
To deck her heautiful repose, 
When float inj; on the breeze of even, 
Lont; clouds of purple streak the heavcii, 
"With hrij^htcr tintj* of glory blending, 
And darker hues of niijlit descending, 
While hasteninj; to its shady rest 
Kaeh wearv .siinijster .si'cks its nest, 
Chanting a last, a farewell lay, 
As gloomier falls the parting day. 

Broad Narrapansett's Imsom blue 
lias shone with every varying hue; 
The njystic alchemy of k::\q\\ 
Its rich delusions nil has fpveiL 
The silvery sheet unbounde* spread, 
First melting fnim the waters fled ; 


Next the wide path of beaten gold 
Flashing with fiery sparkles rolled ; — 
As all its gorgeous glories died, 
Au amber tinge blushed o'er the tide ; 
Faint and more faint, as more remote, 
The lessening ripples peaceful float ; 
And now, one rn1)y line, alone 
Trembles, is paler, and is gone, 
And from the blue wave fades away 
The last life-tint of dying day ! ^^ 
In darkness veiled, was seen no more 
Canonicut's extended shore ; 
Each little isle, with bosom green, 
Descending mists impervious screen ; 
One gloomy shade o'er all the woods 
Of forest-fringed Aquetnet broods; 
Wliere solemn oak was seen before 
Beside the rival sycamore. 
Or pine and cedar lined the height, 
All in one livery brown were diglit. 

But lo ! with orb serene on high. 

The round moon climbs the eastern sky ; 

The stars all quench their feebler rays 

Before her universal blaze. 

Round moon ! how sweetly dost thou smile 

Above that green reposing isle. 

Soft cradled in the illumined bay, 

Where from its bank the shadows seem 

Melting in filmy light away. 

Far does thy tempered lustre stream. 



Clicck(;riii^ tlio liiftod sjrovcs on liig:li, 
While glcMis in j^looni Ijcncalli tlicni lio. 
Oft slicctt'd with the ghostly beam, 
^lid the thiek forest's mass of shade, 
The shinu'led roof is gleaming white, 
AVhcre labor, in the eultured glade, 
lias all the^ wild a garden n.ade. 
And there with silvery tassels bright 
The serried mai/c is waving slow, 
"While litful shadows come and go, 
Swift o'er its undnlating seas, 
As gently breathes the evening breeze. 

J/rnr/'x 11 n His Kasiburn. 


A LONELY slope of fairest green, 
Tnrrowed with ancient, low-ridged graves; 
Downward the forcst-shadt)ws lean. 
And sunlight comes in litful waves. 

So sleeps the scene where, as of old. 
Should grief and memory oft rej)air; 

But love has faded and waxed eold, — 
How silent broods the breathinir air! 

*Ncath slanting stone or massive tond) 
Each ehurehyard dweller stirless sleeps, 

Nor reeks of changing frost or bloom, 
Or distant cry of occau deeps. 

On thr()b))iiig heart and eager bniln 

Well hath the stern one wronght his spell 


How poor are words, and sig-iis how vain, 
The story of one htc to tell ! 

On tliat liigli, mossy, cnunl)ling stone, 
AVash-cd by a century's dripping showers. 

Mid plirases to our fathers known, 
TIjo graven death's-head dimly lowers. 

And there, on many a weighty shaft. 
The last faint glow of knightly fame 

Survives in emblems that would waft 
To latest days some honored uamc. 

High on the right, with graven stone. 

The ashes of the powerful lie- 
Low on the left, 'neath turf alone. 

Watched by the same eternal sk}^ 

Repose at last the humble throng 

t\'ho toiled that those might leisure know; 

To these no sculptured signs belong; 
No imagery of death and woe 

Mars the sweet sense of glad release. 
The rest that time and nature yield; 

The slave, the poor, the hireling, cease 
From labor in this tranquil field. 

Not all unheeded fled away 

These shadows of the dusky past ; 
Here in some long-forgotten day 

The mourner's tears have fallen fast. 


But ere the wanderer's glance may pause 
On eaeli neglected, sunken mound, 

His i)ious meed of pity draws 
A low response of solemn sound : 

** Come not to linger by our graves ; 

Plant not thy curious footstep here; 
The ])ast from thee no memory craves, 

No idle tribute of a tear. 

'•()iir names, our lives, why seek to know? 

Avails it, then, that thoii shouldst learn 
Of aught but proud armorial show, 

Or bnizen j)()mp of funeral urn ? 

" Sce'st thou the glade in verdure drest? 

Our strength subdued the stubborn soil: 
In fields with golden promise blest 

Behold the triumph of our toil ! 

*' Nor we, the mothers of a race, ' 

Less bravely strove, in evil days, 
To cope witli want, to win a space 

For freer life, in broader ways. 

" \\'h:it tliougli beneath no empty show 

Of funeral state our relies rest ? 
Do they the sweeter .slumber know 

Who long the marl)lc couch have pressed ? 

To them their cherished pomp of place, 
Their sellish pride of heartless powers; 
Be ours the boast of loftier race, — 
Manhood and womanhood were ours," 

Esther Vein on Carpciifcr. 


Nashua, the River, 


OTIIOU who jounicycst tlirougli tliat Edeii-climc, 
"Winding thy devious way to cheat the time, 
Delightful Nashua ! beside thy stream. 
Fain would I paint thy beauties as they gleam. 
Eccentric river ! poet of the woods ! 
Where, in thy far secluded solitudes, 
The wood-nymphs sport and naiads plash thy wave. 
With charms more sweet than ever Fancy gave; 
How oft with Mantua's bard, from school let free, 
I 've conned the silver lines that flow like thee, 
Couched on thy emerald banks, at ftdl length laid. 
Where classic elms grew lavish of their shade, 
Or indolently listened, while the throng 
Of idler beings woke their summer song ; 
Or, with rude angling gear, outwatched the sun. 
Comparing mine to deeds by Walton done. 

Far down the silent stream, where arching trees 
Bend their green boughs so gently to the breeze. 
One live, broad mass of molten crystal lies, 
Clasping the mirrored beauties of the skies ! 
Look, how the sunshine breaks upon the plains ! 
So the deep blush their flattered glory stains. 

Romantic river ! on thy quiet breast, 
While flashed the salmon with his lightning crest. 
Not long ago, the Indian's thin canoe 
Skimmed lightly as the shadow which it threw; 


Not l(.ni^ ai^o, beside tliy banks of green, 

The night -lire bhized and spread its dismal sheen. 

Thon peaecvlnl valley! when I think how fair 
Thy varions beanty shines, beyond compare, 
1 cannot choose l)ut own the Tower that gave 
Amidst thy woes a helping hand to save, 
When o'er thy hills the savage war-whoop came, 

And desolation raised its fnneral llanie ! 

Riifus Dawes. 

Ndfick, Mass, 


THOTJ ancient oak ! whose myriad leaves are loud 
\\ ilh sounds of unintelligible speech, 
Sounds as of surges on a shingly beach, 
Or multitudinous murmurs of a crowd ; 
WirU some mysterious gift of tongues endowed. 
Thou speakest a dilferent diali'ct to each ; 
To me u language that no man caii teach, 
Of a lost nice, long vanished like a cloud. 
For undernf'at|i thy shade, in day» remote, 
Seated like Ai)raham at eventide 
Beneath the oaks of Manuv, the unknown 
Apostle of the Indians, Eliot, wrote 
His Bible ill a language thut Imtli died 
And is forgotten, save by thee alone. 

Ucnry U adsicorth Longfellow. 


Newbury, Mass. 


" Concerning ye Ampbisbtena, as soon as 1 received your commands, 
I made diligent inquiry: .... be assures me y' bad really two beads, 
one ajt eacb end; two moutbs, two stings or tongues." — Rlv. Cuius- 


FAE, away in the twilight time 
Of every people, in every elime, 
Dragons and griffins and monsters dire. 
Born of water and air and fire. 
Or nnrsed, like the Python, in the mud 
And ooze of the old Deucalion flood. 
Crawl and wriggle and foain with rage. 
Through dusk tradition and ballad age. 
So from the childliood of Newbury town 
And its time of fable the tale eomcs down 
Of a terror which haunted bush and brake. 
The Amphisbaiua, the Double Snake ! 

Thou who makest the tale thy mirth, 

Consider that strip of Christian earth 

On the desolate shore of a saiUess sea. 

Full of terror and mystery. 

Half redeemed from the evil hold 

Of the wood so dreary and dark and old. 

Which drank with its lips of leaves the dew 

When Time was young, and the world was new, 

And wove its shadows with sun and moon, 

Ere the stones of Cheops were squared and hewn. 


Think (/f (lie so:i's dread iiionotoiic, 

Of the luound'id wail from the junc-wood blown, 

Of the strange, vast splendors that lit the North, 

Of the troubled throes of the quaking earth. 

And the dismal tales the Indian told. 

Till the settler's heart at his hearth grew cold. 

And he shrank from the tawny wizard's boasts, 

And the hovering shadows seemed full of ghosts, 

And above, below, and on every side. 

The fear of his creed seemed verified; — 

And think, if his lot were now thine own, 

To grope with terrors nor named nor kn(jwn, 

IIow laxer muscle and weaker nerve 

And a feebler faith thy need might serve; 

And own to thyself the wonder more 

That the snake had two heads, and not a score ! 

"Whether he lurked in the Oldtown feu 

Or the gray carth-llax of the Devil's Den, 

Or swam in the wooded Artichoke, 

Or coiled ,by the Northman's Written Rock, 

Nothing on record is left to show ; 

Only the fact that he lived, we know. 

And left the cast of a double head 

In the scaly mask which he yearly shed. 

Tor he carried a heail where his tail should be, 

And the two, of course, could never agree. 

But wriggled about with main and might. 

Now to the left and now to the right; 

Pulling and twisting this way and that, 

Neither knew what the other was at. 


A snalcc witli two heads, lurking so near ! — 

Judge of the wonder, guess at the fear ! 

Tliink wliat ancient gossips might say. 

Shaking tlieir heads in their dreary way, 

Between the meetings on Sabbatli-day ! 

How urchins, seareliing at day's dcehne 

The Common Pasture for sheep or kine, 

The terrible double-ganger heard 

In leafy rustle or whir of bird ! 

Think what a zest it gave to the sport, 

In berry -time, of the younger sort, 

As over pastures blackberry-twined, 

Reuben and Dorotliy lagged beliind, 

And closer and closer, for fear of harm, 

The maiden clung to her lover's arm ; 

And how the spark, who was forced to stay, 

By his sweetheart's fears, till the break of day, 

Thanked the snake for the fond delay ! 

Tar and wide the tale was told, 

Like a snowball growing while it rolled. 

The nurse hushed with it the baby's cry; 

And it served, in the worthy minister's eye. 

To paint the primitive serpent by. 

Cotton Mather came galloping down 

All the way to Newbury town, 

With his eyes agog and his ears set wide. 

And his marvellous inkhorn at his side; 

Stirring the wliile in the shallow pool 

Of his brains for the lore he learned at school. 

To garnish the story, with here a streak 


Of Latin, and there another of Greek: 

And. the tales lie heard and tlic notes he took, 

Behold ! are they not in his Wonder-Book ? 

Stories, like dragons, are liard to kill. 

If tlic snake does not, tlic talc runs still 

In l?y field Meadows, on Pipestave Hill. 

And still, whenever husband and wife 

Publish the shame of their daily strife, 

And, with mad cross-purpose, tug and strain 

At either end of the marriage-chain. 

The gossips say, with a knowing shake 

Of their gray heads, "Look at the Double Snake ! 

One in body and two in will, 

The Amphisbii'ua is living still ! " 

.)uh)i Green leaf U hi titer. 



Up and down the village streets 
Strange are the forms my fancy meets, 
Por the tiiouglits and things of to-day are hid. 
And through the veil of a closed lid 
The ancient worthies I sec again : 
I hear the tap of the elder's cane, 
And his awful |)eriwig I sec. 
And the silver buckles of shoe and knec. 
Stately and slow, with thoughtful air, 
His blick cap hiding his whitened hair. 
Walks the Judge of the great Assize, 
Samuel Sewall the good and wise. 

^E^VBURY. 107 

His face with lines of firmness wrought, 
He wears the look of a man unbought, 
TV lio swears to Ids hurt and changes not; 
Yet, torched and softened nevertheless 
With the grace of Christian gentleness, 
The face that a child would climb to kiss ! 
True and tender and brave and just. 
That man might honor and woman trust. 
* * * 

I see, far southward, this quiet day, 
The hills of Newbury roUing away. 
With the many tints of the season gay, 
Dreamily blending in autumn mist 
Crimson and gold and amethyst. 
Long and Ljw, with dwarf trees crowned, 
Plum Island lies, like a whale aground, 
A stone's toss over the narrow sound. 
Inland, as far as the eye can go. 
The hills curve round hke a bended bow ; \ ^ 
A silver arrow from out them sprung, 
I see the sliine of the Quasycung ; 
And, round and round, over valley and hill, 
Old roads winding, as old roads will, 
Here to a ferry, and there to a mill ; 
And glimpses of chimneys and gabled eaves, 
Through green elm arches and maple leaves, — 
Old homesteads sacred to all that can 
Gladden or sadden the heart of man, — 
Over whose thresholds of oak and stone' 
Life and Death have come and gone ! 
There pictured tiles in the fireplace show. 


Groat beams satr from tin- ocilimr low, 

The dresser jj^littei-s \\i\\\ ]«)lislud wares, 

The loni? clock ticks on the foot- worn stairs. 

And the low, broad chimney shows the enick 

IW tiie eaiilKiuake made a century back. 

Up from their midst sprinjxs the vilhurc spire 

With the crest of its cock in the sun afire; 

Beyond arc orchards and i)hintinf^ lands, 

And preat salt marshes and glimmering sands. 

And, wherc north and south the coast-lines run, 

The blink of the sea in breeze and sun ! 

I see it all lik(> a chart nnroUed, 
But my thoiights are full of the past and old; 
I hear the tales of my boyhood told. 
And the shadows and shapes of early days 
Flit dindy by in the veiling haze, 
AVith measured movement and rhythmic chime 
Weaving like shuttles my web of rhyme. 
1 think of tlu' old man wise and good 
Who once on yon misty hillsides stood, 
(A |K)ct who never measured rhyme, 
A seer unknown U) his dull-eared time,) 
And, propped on his stntT of age, looked down, 
Willi his boyhood's love, on iiis native town, 
Where, written, as if on its hills and jdains. 
His burden of prophecy yet remains. 
For tlie voices of wood and wave and wind 
T v;id in the ear of the musing mind: — 

As long as Blum Island, to puanl the coast 
As God ap|)ointed, shall keep its post ; 


As long as a salmon shall haunt the deep 

Of Mcrrimae River, or sturgeon leap ; 

As long as pickerel swift and slim, 

Or red-backed perch, in Crane Pond swim; 

As long as the annual sea-fowl know 

Their time to come and their time to go ; 

As long as cattle shall roam at will 

The green, grass meadows by Turkey Hill; 

As long as sheep shall look from the side 

Of Oldtown Hill on marishes wide. 

And Parker River, and salt-sea tide; 

As long as a wandering pigeon shall search 

The fields below from his white-oak perch, 

When the barley-harvest is ripe and shorn, 

And the dry husks fall from the standing corn; 

As long as Nature shall not grow old, 

Nor drop her work from her doting hold, 

And her care for the Indian corn forget, 

And the yellow rows in pairs to set ; — 

So long shall Christians here be born, 

Grow up and ripen as God's sweet corn ! — 

By the beak of bird, by the breath of frost, 

Shall never a holy ear be lost. 

But, husked by Death in the Planter's sight. 

Be sown again in the fields of light ! " 

The Island still is purple with plums. 

Up the river the salmon comes. 

The sturgeon leaps, and the wild-fowl feeds 

On hillside berries and marish seeds, — 

All the beautiful signs remain. 

Prom spring-time sowing to autumn rain 


Tlic jcrood man's vision rotnrns fi^in ! 
And Irt us li()|H', us wrll \\r fan, 
Tlial the Silent Anj^el wlio garners man 
May find some gniiii as of old he found 
In the human c<»rn(ield rine and sound, 
And the Lord of the Harvest deign to own 
The precious seed I)}' the fathers sown ! 

John Greenleaf Whit tier. 


DID ever it come in your way to pass 
The silvery iHind, with its fringe of grass; 
And, thn-ading the lane hard by, to sec 
The vctenm elm of Newbury ? 

\'.i\\ .s;tw how its roots had grasped the gnnind. 
As if it had felt that the earth went roiind, 
And fast«*ned them down with determined will 
To keej) it steady, and hold it still. 
Its aged trunk, so stately and strring. 
Has bnived the blasts, as they've rushed along; 
Its heiid has towered, and its arms have spread, 
While more than a huiulred years have fled ! 

Well, that old elm, that is now so grand, 

Was once a twig in the rustic hand 

Of a youthful peasant, who went one night 

To visit liis love, by the tender Uglit 

Of the modest mwni aiul her twinkling host. 


Wliile the star that lighted liis bosom most, 
Aud gave to his lonely feet their speed, 
Abode ill a cottage beyond the mead! 

* * * 

It is not recorded how long he stayed 
In the cheerful home of the smiling maid ; 
But when he came out, it was late and dark, 
And silent, — not even a dog would bark, 
To take from his feeling of loneliness. 
And make the length of his way seem less. 
He thought it was strange, that the treacherous moon 
Should have given the world the slip so soon; 
And, whether the eyes of the girl had made 
The stars of the sky in his own to fade. 
Or not, it certainly seemed to him 
That each grew distant and small and dim ; 
And he shuddered to tliink he now was about 
To take a long and a lonely route ; 
For he did not know what fearful sight 
Might come to him through the shadows of night 1 

An elm grew close by the cottage's eaves ; 

So he plucked him a twig well clothed with leaves, 

And sallying forth with the supple arm. 

To serve as a talisman parrying harm, 

He felt that, though his heart was so big, 

'Twas even the stouter for having the twig. 

For this, he thought, would answer to switch 

The horrors away, as he crossed the ditch. 

The meadow and copse, wherein, perchance. 

Will-o'-the-wisp might Mackedly dance; 

And, wielding it, keep him from having a chill 


At the iiuMiac'iiig sound of " Whip-poor-will ! " 
And his lU-sh IVoiii crcepiiii^ beside tlie bog 
At the liarsli, bass voice of the vicwh'ss frog : 
111 short, he feh tliat the switeli would be 
Guard, plavthiiig, business, and company. 

AVhen he got safe home, and joyfully found 

lie still was himself! and living! and sound! 

He planted the twig by his family cot, 

To stand as a monument, marking the spot 

It hel])ed him to reach ; and, what was still more, 

Because it had grown liy liis fair one's door. 

The twig took root; and as time flew by, 
Its boughs spread wide, and its head grew high ; 
While the ])riest's good service had long been done. 
Which made the youth and the maiden one; 
And their young scions arose and phiyed 
Around the tree, in its leafy shade. 

■Rut many and many a year has fled 

Since they were gathered among the dead ; 

And now llieir names, with the moss o'ergrown, 

Are veiled from sight on the churchyard stone 

That leans away, in a lingering fall, 

And owns the ]K)wer that shall levt'l all 

The works that the hand of man hath wrought; 

Bring him to dust, and his name to naught. 

While, near in view, and just beyond 

The gnissy skirts of the silver ])f)nd, 

In its "green old Jige," stands the Tiol)le tree, 

The veteran elm of Newbury. 

Hannah Flagg Gould. 


Neicbunjport, JIass. 


ITS windows flashing to the sky, 
Beueath a thousand roofs of brown, 
Far down the vale, my friend and I 

Beheld tlie old and quiet town: 
The ghostly sails that out at sea 
Happed their white wings of mystery, 
The beaches glimmering in the sun. 
And the low wooded capes that run 
Into the sea-mist north and south ; 
The sand-blutfs at the river's mouth; 
The swhigmg chain-bridge, and, afar. 
The foam-line of the harbor-bar. 

Over the woods and meadow-lands 

A crimson-tinted shadow lay 

Of clouds through which the settmg day 

Flung a slant glory far away. 
It glittered on the wet sea-sands. 

It flamed upon the city's panes. 
Smote the white sails of ships that wore 
Outward or in, and glided o'er. 

The steeples with their veering vanes ! 

Awhile my friend with rapid search 
O'erran the landscape. " Yonder spire 
Over grav roofs, a shaft of fire; 


Wliat is it, pniY ? " "The "Whitcfit'kl Clitncli 
Walled about l)y its basement stones. 
There rest tlie marvellous prophet's l)()iu\s. 
Then as our homeward way we walked, 
or tlie great preaeher's lite we talked ; 
And through tlie mystery of our tliemc 
The outward glory seemed to stream, 
And Nature's self interpreted 
The doubtful record of the dead; 
And every level beam that smote 
The sails upon the dark alloat, 
A symbol of the light became 
Which touched the shadows of our blame 
With tongues of Pentecostal llame. 

Under tiie eliureh of Federal Street, 
Under the tread of its Sabbath feet, 
Walled about by its basement stones, 
Lie the marvellous preacher's bones. 
No saintly honors to them are shown, 
No sign nor miracle have they known; 
But he who passes the ancient church 
Stops in the shade of its belfry-i)oreli, 
And ponders the wonderful life of him 
Who lies at rest iu that charnel dim. 
Long shall the traveller strain liis eye 
From the railroad car, as it ])lunges 1)Y, 
Aiid the vanisliing town behind him search 
For the slender sj)ire of tlie Wliitedeld Church 
And feel for one moment the ghosts of trade 
And risliion and follv and jilcasure laid. 


By the tliouglit of that life of pure intent, 
That voice of warning vet eloquent, 
Of one on the errands of angels sent. 
And if where he labored the flood of sin 
Like a tide from the harbor-bar sets in, 
And over a life of time and sense 
The ehurch-spires lift their vain defence, 
As if to scatter the bolts of God 
With the points of Calvin's thunder-rod, — 
Still, as the gem of its civic crown, 
Precious beyond the world's renown. 
His memory hallows the ancient town ! 

John Greenleaf WhlWer. 

Newcastle, N. H, 


Francis Cuampkrxowne lies buried on thesea-sitle of Grerrish Island, 
his only monument a little pile of small stones. ' Thomas de Cambernon 
was the ancestor to whom the Champernownes traced back their descent. 
" Modbtiry's blazoned door " alludes to one of his descendants, the mother 
of Sir Waiter Raleigh, who was a Champernowne of ^Nlodbury. 

THOMAS DE CAMBEUNOX for Hastings' field 
Left Kormandy ; his tower saw liini no more ! 
And no crusader's war-horse plumed and steeled 

Paws the grass now at Modbury's blazoned door ; 
Ko lettered marble nor ancestral shield, — 
Where all the Atlantic shakes the lonesome shore, 
Lies ours forgotten ; only cobble-stones 

To tell us where are Champernowne' s poor bones. 

John Eliojjn. 


New Haven, Conn. 


/^II, "whoiT arc llu-v wiiosc an mat rarili could irivc 
' ' r>cnoatl» these senseless niarl)les disappeared? 
Where even tliey wljo taught these stones to grieve, — 
The liands that licwcd Ihciu. and the hearts that 

reared ? 
Sueli tlic i)Oor Ijoumis ot aii tiiai ^ iioju-d or feared 
"Within the griefs and smiles of this short day. 
Here sank tlie honored, vanished the endeared. 
This the last tribute love to love could jjay, — 
An idle pageaut-])ile to graces passed away. 

"Why deck these sculptured trophies of tlic tond) ? 
Why, victims, gjirland thus the spoiler's fane ? 
lIoj)C ye by these to avert oblivion's doom, 
In grief ambiticms, and in aslics vain? 
Ci»). nither bid the sand the trace retain 
Of all that parted Virtue felt and did! 
Yet powerless man revolts from Ruin's reign; 
And Priile has gleamed ui>on the eoffin-lid, 
And heaped o'er human dust the mountiiiu pyramid. 

Sink, mean njcmorials of what cannot die ! 
IV' lowly as the relics you o'crsprca'd ! 
Nor lift your funcnd forms so gorgeously, 


To tell who slumbers in each lowly bed. 
I would uot honor thus the sainted dead. 
Nor to each stranger's careless eye declare 
My sacred griefs for joy and friendship lied. 
No, let me hide the names of those that were. 
Deep in my stricken heart, and shrine them only there. 
Nathaniel Langdon Trothlngham. 


IN Mather's Magnaha Christi, 
Of the old colonial time. 
May be found in prose the legend 
That is here set down in rhyme. 

A ship sailed from New Haven, 
And the keen and frosty airs 

That filled her sails at parting 

Were heavy with good men's prayei-s. 

" Lord ! if it be thy pleasure," — 
Thus prayed the old divine, — 

"To bury our friends in the ocean. 
Take them, for they are thme ! " 

But Master Lamberton muttered. 
And under his breath said he, 

"This ship is so crank and walty, 
I fear our OTave she will be ! " 


And tlic ships that came from England, 
AVhcMi the winter months were gone, 

Bronglit no tidings of this vessel 
Nor of Master Lamberton. 

This pnt the people to praying 

That the Lord would let tliem hear 

"What in his greater wisdom 

lie had done with friends so dear. 

And at last their prayers were answered : — 
It was in tlic month of June, 

An hour l)ef(M-e the sunset 
Of a windy afternoon, 

When, steadily steering landward, 

A ship was seen below, 
And tliey knew it was Lamberton, Master, 

^^'ho sailed so long ago. 

On she came, with a elond of canvas, 
Right against the wind tliat blew, 

Until tlie eye could distinguish 
The faces of the crew. 

Tiicn fell her straining topmasts. 
Hanging tangled in the shrouds. 

And her sails were loosened and lifted. 
And blown aMay like ch)uds. 

And the masts, witli, all tlieir rigging. 
Fell ^^)wlv, one bv one. 


And the hulk dihitcd and vanished, 
As a sea-mist iu the sun ! 

Aud the people who saw tliis marvel 

Eaeh said uuto his iViend, 
That this was the mould of their vessel, 

Ami thus her tragic end. 

Aud the pastor of tlie village 

Gave thanks to God in prayer. 
That, to quiet their troubled spirits, 

He had sent this Ship of Air. 

Henry Wadsioorih Longfellow. 

New London, Conn. 



HEN this fair town was Nam-e-aug, 
A bleak, rough waste of hill and bog, 
In huts of seaweed, thateh, and log, 
Our fathers few, but strong and cheery. 
Sate down amid these deserts dreary. 

'T was all a wild, unchristian wood ; 

A fearful, boisterous solitude; 

A harbor for the wild-fowl's brood, 
"VYhcre countless flocks of every pinion 
Held o'er the shores a bold dominion. 

Tlie sea-liawk hung his cumbrous nest, 
Oak-propped, on every highland crest ; 


Cmiios tlirougli (lio scody niarsljcs prcst ; 
Tlic curlew, by tjjo river lying, 
Looked on God's image, him defying. 

The ea«xle-kini: soared high and free, 

His shadow on the glassy sea 

A sudden rii)i)le seemed to be ; 
The sunlight in his pinions buniing 
Shrouded him from eyes upturning. 

They eame ; the weary-footed hand, 

Tiie paths tiiey elearcd, the streams they spanned ; 

The woodland genius grew more l)land ; 
In iuiste his tangled vines unweaving, 
Them and their Iioim-s with joy receiving. 

• * • 

(ireat hearts were those that hither cumc, — 

A U'inthrop of undying fame, 

A Brewster of an honored name, — 

(Jreat hearts, tiie gn)wth of three gn.ii ii,iiiwn'>. 

Ijaid deep for us these firm foundation.s. 

* • • 

Frances }[. CaittkiHt. 


LWV. the name of IMowden Ilalscy ! 
non«>r to his liero soul ! 
Tell the old and noble story, 
Wreathe hi^i uanjc with fresher glory, 
As the ages roll. 


Off the liarbor of New London 

Lay a British man-of-war; 
By her force our troops annoying, 
And our commeree still destroying, 

Drivmg it afar. 

Wlio will, in the .dread torpedo 
Sinking down her hull beneath. 

Screw the magazine tremendous. 

Whose explosive force stupendous 
Scatters all in death ? 

"I will go," said Plowden Halsey, 
With the red flush on his cheek; 

And his slender form grew stately : 

All around him wondered greatly, 
As they heard him speak. 

"I will go," said Plowden Halsey, 
" Some heart must the peril brave. 

Never say that fear appalls me. 

Let me go ; my country calls me, 
Honored, if I save. 

" Let me go ; and, safe returning, 
Life has higher power to bless. 
Let me go ; and, even if failing. 
Take this comfort mid bewailing, — 
Noble failure is success." 

Oh, the night was wild and stormy ! 
Shrouding mists came closelv down: 

l'2'2 roKMs or places. 

Thick the murky air was glooming, 
And tlic sullen waves Averc booming ; 
Dark the tem})cst's frown. 

Out into the formless darkness 

■ Strong hands bent the springing oar ; 
Died away the friendly voices, 
Hushed were all the murmured noises ; 
Died the lights on shore. 

Underneath the tall mast's shadow 
Rowing close, the youth they left ; 

From the peril still unshrinking, 

111 the fatal engine sinking. 
Under- wa\ OS he cleft. 

Poured the rain in rushing torrents, 

Down the darkness driven aslope; 

Comrades, mid the wild commotion, 

AVatehed the deed of stern devotion 

Fearful, yet wilh hope. 

Ha ! the ship has caught the danger ! 

Lights are hurrying from below ! 
Peals the alarm-gun ! Afen arc leaping 
Into the boats ! With swift oars sweeping 

Out, to seize tiie foe. 

Closer round tliry draw the circle, — 

Have tln'y won the fearful prize? 
Louder than the pealing thunder, 
Bursting all the waves asunder, 
Flaming on the skies, 


V Jomes the terrible explosion ! 

Vast and hollow is the square 
Where the many boats were sailing, 
And the awful lij^lit is paUng, 

And no boats are there ! 

Reels the ship in foaming waters, 

Lashing furious to the shore; 
And the storm-rage grows intenscr, 
And the darkness gathers denser, 

Denser than before. 

"VMiere is noble Plowden Halsey? 

Vainly do his comrades row 

All the night. night appalling ! 

Irresponsive to their calling, 

Plowden sleeps below, 

* * * 

Caroline F. Ornf. 


The Bridgeport paper of March, 18.23, said : " Arrived, schooner Farnc, 
from Cliarleston, via New Loudon. While at anchor in that harhor, dur- 
ing the rain-storm ou Thursday evening last, the Fame was run foul of by 
the wreck of the Methodist Mecting-IIouse from Norwicli, whicti was 
carried away in the late fresliet." 

SOLEMN he paced upon that schooner's deck, 
And muttered of his hardships: "I have been 
Where the wild will of Mississippi's tide 
Has dashed me on the sawyer; I have sailed 
In the thick night, along the wave-washed edge 


or ice, ill acres, by the j)itiless coast 

Of Labrador; and I have scraped my keel 

O'er coral rocks in Madagascar seas, 

And ol'tcii ill my cold and midnight watch 

Have heard tlie warning voice of the lee shore 

Si)eaking in breakers ! Ay, and I have seen 

Tiie whale and sword-fish fight beneath my bows; 

And when they made the deej) boil like a pot, 

Have swnng into its vortex; and I know 

To cord my vessel with a sailor's skill, 

And brave such dangers witli a sailor's heart : 

But never yet upon the stormy wave. 

Or where the river mixes witli tlie main, 

Or in the chafing ancliorage of the bay, 

In all my rough cxj)erience of harm. 

Met 1 — a Methodist meeting-house! 

* * * 

Cat-head, or beam, or davit has it none, 
Starboard nor larboard, gunwale, stem nor stern ! 
It comes in such a " questionable shape," 
I cannot ev(Mi speak it ! Up jib, Josey, 
And make for Bridgeport ! There, where Stratford Point, 
Long Beach, Fainveather Island, and the buoy. 
Are safe from such encounters, we Tl protest ! 
And Yankee legends long sliall tell the talc. 
Tliat once a Charleston schooner was beset, 
Hiding at uiichor, by a meeting-house. 

Jo/oi Gardner Calkins Brainard. 


Newport, R. L 


SPEAK ! speak ! tliou fearful guest ! 
Who, with thy hollow breast 
Still ill rude armor drest, 

Comest to daunt me ! 
Wrapt not in Eastern balms, 
But witli thy fleshless palms 
Sti-etched, as if asking alms, 
Why dost thou haunt me ? " 

Then, from those cavernous eyes 
Pale flashes seemed to rise, 
As when the Northern skies 

Gleam in December; 
And, like the water's flow 
Under December's snow, 
Came a dull voice of woe 

From the heart's chamber. 

"I was a Viking old! 

My deeds, though manifold, 

No Skald in song has told. 

No Saga taught thee ! 
Take heed, that in thy verse 
Thou dost the tale rehearse, 
Else dread a dead man's curse ; 

For this I sous-ht thee. 

12<> r()KM> (»l I'LACtS. 

"Tar ill tlic Nortlirrn Land, 
By tlir uiKl Baltic's strand, 
I, with mv tliililish liand, 

Tamod the gorlalcon ; 
And, with my skates fast-bound, 
Skimmed tlic half-frozen Sound, 
That tlic poor, wliiinpering hound 

Treiiihlcd to walk on. 

"Oft to his frozen lair 
Tracked I the jrrisly bear, 
AVIiilc from my path the hare 

Fled like a shadow; 
Oft throu«;li the forest dark 
Followed the werc-wolfs bark, 
Until the soarinc^ lark 

SaiifT from the meadow. 

" But when I older prew. 
Joining a corsair's crew, 
O'er tlie dark .sea T flew 

"With the marauders. 
\y\h\ was the life mc led, 
Many the .souls that sped. 
Many the liearts that bled. 

By our stern orders. 

" Many a wassail bout 
"Wore the loner Winter out; 
Often our nudnic:ht shout 
Set the cocks crowinj', 


As we tlie Berserk's tale 

Measured in cups of ale, 

Draining the oaken pail. 

Filled to o'erfloMing. 

" Once as I told in glee 
Tales of the stormy sea. 
Soft eyes did gaze on me. 

Burning yet tender; 
And as the white stars shine 
On the dark Norway pine. 
On that dark lieart of mine 

Fell their soft splendor. 

"I wooed the blue-eyed maid, 
Yielding, yet lialf afraid, 
And in the forest's shade 

Our vows were plighted. 
Under its loosened vest 
Fluttered her little breast, 
Like birds within their nest 

By the hawk frighted. 

" Bright in her father's hall 
Shields gleamed upon the wall, 
Loud sang the minstrels all, 

Chanting his glory; 
When of old Hildebrand 
I asked his daugliter's hand, 
Mute did the minstrels stand 

To hear my story. 

12S roi -MS OK i'i.\( 1."-. 

"^Vliilo llic l)rowii mIc ho (iiiaUrd, 
Loud thru i\\c v\\n\u])'um laughed, 
And as tho wiud-i^usts waft 

Tlic sca-loain briglitly, 
So the loud hiugh of scorn, 
Out of those lips unshorn, 
Yrom tlie deep diiiikini,'-lioni 

lilcNV the foam lii^litly. 

" SIjc was a rriuce's child, 

I hut a Viking wild, 

And though she blushed and smiled, 

1 was disearded ! 
Should not the dove so white 
Follow tiie sea-mew's lliglit, 
Why did they leave that night 

Her nest unguarded ? 

•' Scarce had I put to sea, 
Bearing the maid with me. 
Fairest of .-dl was she 

Among the Norsemen ! 
When on the white sea-strand, 
Waving Ids armed hand. 
Saw we old llildehrand, 

With twenty horsemen. 

"Then launehcd they to the blast. 
Bent like a reed each mast, 
Yet wc were gaining fast, 

When the wind failed US ; 
And with a sudden flaw 


Came round tlic gusty Skaw, 
So that our foe we saw- 
Laugh as he liailed us. 

"And as to catch the gale 
Round veered the flapping sail, 
Death ! was the helmsman's hail, 

Death without quarter! 
Mid-ships with iron keel 
Struck we her ribs of steel; 
Down her black hulk did reel 

Through the black water ! 

" As with his wings aslant. 
Sails the fierce cormorant. 
Seeking some rocky haunt 

With his prey laden, 
So toward the open. main. 
Beating to sea again, 
Through the wild hurricane. 

Bore I the maiden. 

" Three weeks we westward bore. 
And when the storm was o'er, 
Cloud-like we saw the shore 

Stretching to leeward; 
There for my lady's bower 
Built I the lofty tower, 
Which, to this very hour. 

Stands looking seaward. 

*' There lived we many years ; 
Time dried the maiden's tears ; 


130 roi:M> <.i ii.aces. m 

She hail forijDt her fi-nrs, ■ 

Slic was a niotlicr; 
Dratli closed licr mild blue eyes, 
I'lulrr that tower bho lies; 
Ne'er shall Ihc sun arise 

On such anotiicr ! 

" Still i^rew my bosom then, 
Still as a sta«rnant IVn I 
llatefid to me were men, 

The sunlight hateful ! 
Tn the vast forest, here, 
(Mad in mv warlike ^'car, 
Fell 1 upon njy spear, 

(). death was trrateful ! 

" Thus, seamed with many sears. 
I^urstiui? these prison bars, 
Up to its native stars 

My soul ascended ! 
There from the flowiu«,' bowl 
Deep drinks the warrior's soul, 
Skoal! to the Northland! dual!'* 

Thus the tale ended. 


TIIKY say that site died of a brf)ken lioart 
(I tdl the tide as 'twas t(dd to me); 
But licr spirit lives, and her soul is part 
Of this sad old house bv the sea. 


Her lover was fickle and fine and rrcncli : 

It was nearly a hundred years ago 
"Wlien he sailed away from lier arms — poor wench — 

"With the Admiral llochambeau, 

I marvel much what periwigged phrase 
Won the heart of this sentimental Quaker, 

At what golden-laced speech of those modish days 
She Hstened — the mischief take her ! 

But she kept the posies of mignonette 

That he gave; and ever as their bloom failed 

And faded (though with her tears still wet) 
Her youth with their own exhaled. 

Till one niglit, when the sea-fog wrapped a shroud 
Round spar and spire and tarn and tree. 

Her soul went up on that lifted cloud 
Prom this sad old house by the sea. 

And ever since then, when the clock strikes two. 
She walks unbidden from room to room. 

And the air is filled that she passes through 
With a subtle, sad perfume. 

The delicate odor of mignonette. 

The ghost of a dead and gone bouquet. 

Is all that tells of her story; yet 
Could she think of a sweeter way ? 
* * * 

I sit in the sad old house to-night, — 
Myself a ghost from a farther sea; 


And I trust that tins Quaker woman niiglit, 
In courtesy, visit mc. 

For llir lan<,'l» is lied from ]U)rcli and lawn, 
And tlir bugle died iVoin the fort on the hill, 

And the twitter of girls on the stairs is gone, 
And the grand piano is still. 

Somewhere in the darkness a clock strikes two; 

And there is no .sound in tlic sad old house, 
But the long veiimda dripj)ing with dew. 

And in the wainscot a mouse. 

The liglit of my study-lamp streams out 
From the library door, but has gone astray 

In the dejtths of the darkened hall. Small doubt 
But the (^hiakeress knows the way. 

Was it the trick of a sense oVrwrought 
With outward watching and inward fret? 

But I swear that the air just now was fraught 
With the odor of mignonette ! 

I open the window, and seem almost — 
So still lies the ocean — to licar the beat 

Of its (Jreat (iidf artery off the coast, 
And to bask in its tropic heat. 

In my neighbor's windows the gas-lights flare. 
As the dancers swing in a waltz of Strauss; 

And I wonder now could I fit that air 
To the song of this sad old house. 


Aiid uo odor of mignonette there is 
But tlie breath of mom on the dewy Lawn ; 

And mayliap from causes as slight as this 
The quaint old legend is born. 

But the soul of that subtle, sad perfume, 
As the spiced embalmings, they say, outlast 

The mummy laid in his rocky tomb, 
Awakens my buried past. 

And I think of the passion that shook my youth, 
Of its aimless loves and its idle pains. 

And am thankful now for tlie certain truth 
That only the sweet remains. 

And I hear no rustle of stiff brocade. 
And I see no face at my library door; 

For now that the ghosts of my heart are laid. 
She is viewless forevermore. 

But whetlier she came as a faint perfume. 
Or whether a spirit in stole of white, 

I feel, as I pass from the darkened room. 
She has been with my soul to-night 1 

Bret Harfe. 


IT is nearly a hundred years ago. 
Since the day that the Count de E^chambeau — 
Our ally against the British crown — 
Met Washington in Newport town. 

l.U roiMs or PLAC'Ks. 

T was tlio moiitli of Marc-li, and the air wis <lnll 
But barrliradcd over Aquidnrok liill, 
Ciurst and liost thrv look, tljoir way, 
AVliilo on cilhcr sido was the grand array 

Of a gallant army, Frrnfh and fine. 
Ranged tliree deep in a glittering line ; 
And the Freneh fleet sent a weleonie roar 
Of a hundred guns from Canonicut shore. 

And tlie hells rang out from every steeple, 
And from street to street the Newport people 
Followed and eheered. with a hearty zest, 
Dc Rochanibcau and his honored guest. 

And women out of the windows leant. 
And out of the windows smiled and sent 
Many a eoy admiring glanee 
To the fine young officers of Fninee. 

And the story goes, that the belle of the town 
Kissed a rose and flung it down 
Stn»ight at the feet of De Roehand)eau ; 
And the gallant marshal, bending low, 

Lifted it tip with a F'renehman's grace, 
And ki**sed it baek. with a glance at the face 
Of the daring maiden where she stood. 
Blushing o»it of her silken hood. 

Tliat night at the ball, still the story goes. 
The Marshal of France wore u faded rose 


111 liis gold-laccd coat ; but lie looked in vain 
For the giver's beautiful face again. 

Night after night and day after day, 
The rrenchman eagerly sought, they say. 
At feast, or at church, or along the street, 
Eor the girl who flung her rose at his feet. 

And she, night after night, day after day. 
Was speeding farther and farther away 
From the fatal window, the fatal street. 
Where her passionate heart had suddenly beat 

A throb too much for the cool control 

A Puritan teaches to heart and soul ; 

A throb too much for the wrathful eyes 

Of one who had watched in dismayed surprise 

From the street below; and taking the gauge 
Of a woman's heart in that moment's rage. 
He swore, this old colonial squire. 
That before the daylight should expire, 

This daughter of his, with her wit and grace, 
And lier dangerous heart and her beautiful face. 
Should be on her way to a sure retreat. 
Where no rose of hers could fall at the feet 

Of a cursed Frencliman, high or low; 
And so while the Count de Rochambeau 
In bis gold-laced coat wore a faded flower. 
And awaited the giver hour by hour. 


Slie WHS sailing away in the wild Marcli uiylit 
Oil till' little deck of the slooj) Delight; 
Guarded even iii the darkness there 
By the wrathful eyes of a jealous care. 

Three weeks after, a brig bore down 
Into the harbor of Newport town, 
Towing a wreek, — 't was the sloop Delight, 
Oil' Hampton roeks, in the very sight 

Of the land she sought, she and her crew 
And all on board of her, full in view 
Of the storm-bound lishennen over the bay, 
Went to their doom on that Ajiril day. 

When Koehambeau heard the terrible tale. 

lie muttered a ])rayer, for a moment grew jjalc ; 

Then "Mon Dieu," he exclaimed, "so my line ronumee 

Fruiii bcLriuniiiL'" to end is a rose and a glance." 

Xora Pern/. 


H(»\\ strange it seems! These Hebrews in their 
Close l)y the street of this fair seaport town, 
Silent 1)1 side the ncvcr-silcut waves. 

At rest in all this moving uj) and down ! 

Tiie trees are white with dust, that o'er their sleep 
Wave tlieir broad curtains in the south-wind's breath, 

While underneath these leafy tents tiicy keep 
The long, mysterious E.\odus of Death. 


And these sepulcliral stones, so old and brown, 
That pave with level flags their burial-place. 

Seem like the tablets of the Law, thrown down 
And broken by Moses at tlie mountain's base. 

The very names recorded here arc strange. 
Of foreign accent, and of different climes; 

Alvares and Rivera interchange 

With Abraham and Jacob of old times. 

" Blessed be God ! for he created Death ! " 

The mourners said, " and Death is rest and peace " ; 

Then added, in the certainty of faith, 

"And giveth Life that nevermore shall cease." 

Closed are the portals of their Synagogue, 
No Psalms of David now the silence break. 

No Rabbi reads the ancient Decalogue 
In the grand dialect the Prophets spake. 

Gone are the living, but the dead remain. 
And not neglected; for a hand unseen. 

Scattering its bounty, like a summer rain. 

Still keeps their graves and their remembrance green. 

How came they here ? What burst of Christian hate^ 
What persecution, merciless and blind. 

Drove o'er the sea — that desert desolate — 
These Ishmaels and Hagars of mankind ? 

They lived in narrow streets and lanes obscure. 
Ghetto and Judenstrass, in mirk and mire; 


Tauplit ill the scliool of patinirc to nuliirc 
The life of an^niish niul the death of fire. 

All their lives loiii:. with the unleavened bread 
And hitter herhs of exile and its fears, 

The Mastinir famine of the heart they fed. 

And slaked its thirst with Marah of their tears. 

Anathema mai-anathal was the erv 

That rang from town to town, from street to stnct ; 
At every gate the neeursed Mordceai 

"Was mocked and jeered, and spurned by Christ mm ^■i\ 

Pride and humiliation hand in hand 

Walked with them through the world where'er they 
went ; 
Tnimpled and beaten weir they as the sand. 

And yet unshaken as the eontinent. 

For in the baekpround figures vague and vast 
Of patriarehs and of prophets rose sublime, 

And all the great tnulitions of the Past 
They saw reflected in the eoming time. 

And tlnis forever with reverted look 

The my^tie volume r»f the world they read, 

S|M'lling it haekward. like a Hebrew b(Mik, 
Till life l)ecame n Legend of the Dead. 

But ah I what once has been shall he no more ! 

The groaning e/»rth in travail and in pain 
Hrintrs f(»rth its n»ees. but docs not ; 

And the dead nati«>ns never rise 

llfnnf Wadjucor/k Longfellov. 



WHAT strivest thou for, O thou most mighty ocean, 
Rolling thy ceaseless sweeping surfs ashore? 
Canst thou not stay that restless, wild commotion? 

Must that low murmur moan forevermore? 
Yet thou art better than our hearts, though yearning 

Still for some unattained, unknown land; 
Thou still art constant, evermore returning. 

With each fresh wind, to kiss our waiting strand, 
O heart ! if restless, like the yearning ocean. 
Like it be all thy waves, of one emotion ! 

Whither, with canvas wnngs, ship, art sailing, — 

Homeward or outward bound, to shore or sea? 
What thought within thy strong sides is prevailing, — • 

Hope or despair, sorrow or careless glee ? 
Thou, too, art like our hearts, which gayly seeming, 

With hope sails set to catch each freshening breeze, 
In truth art sad, with tears and trials teeming, — 

Perhaps to sail no more on life's wild seas. 
heart ! while sailing, like a ship, remember. 
Thou, too, mayst founder in a rough December ! 

Why your white arms, ye windmills, are ye crossing 
In sad succession to the evening breeze. 

As though within your gray old heads were tossing 
Thoughts of fatigue and longings after ease? — 

But ye are better than oui; hearts, for grieving 
Over your cares ye work your destined way. 

\\n i'oiMs oi' rLACtJ<. 

While tiicv, liirir sdlciim duties weakly leaving, 

111 lu-li)l(>s sorrow weej) tlieir lives away. 
() heart I if like tiiose iiuary giants mourning, 
"\Vliv lint lie iniiL'lit liv tluir iustructive warning! 

in 1 1 tarn Croswell Loane, 


NEWPORT! chosen sweetheart of the sea, 
Wooed by the waves at each returning tide; 
The strong rocks guard thee, lest thou daintily 
Shouldst, slipping 'twixt their crags, flee as his bride. 

O waves ! that beat upon a hopeless shore, 
That ask and call, and, weeping, turn again, 

So shall you rise and fall foreverniore. 

Nor even time shall bring you joy f(»r pain. 

Within the silent chamber of my heart 

It is as with tlie city and the sea 
For I'atc is strong, and holds me stili :i|i;iri 

Trom one who hopes, and, trusting, waits for nic. 

liulh Dana. 


SO the man be a man, let him wor>hip. at will, 
In .Teni.s;d(nrs courts, or on (i( ri/im's hill. 
Wh<Mi slje make** up her jewels, what cares yon good 

F'.r tlie Baptist of Wayland, the Quaker of lirov^Ti ? 


And this green, favored island, so fresh and sea-blown. 
When she counts up the worthies her annals have 

Never waits for the pitiful gangers of sect 
To measure her love and mete out her respect. 

Three shades at this moment seem walking her strand, 
Each with head halo-crowned, and with palms in his 

hand, — 
Wise Berkeley, grave Hopkins, and, smiling serene 
On prelate and puritan, ChaUning is seen. 

John Greenleaf Whittier. 

Norridgewock, Me. 


THIS is a quiet old town, living more in the past 
than the present; 
Dreamily flows its life, like its dreamy, beautiful river. 
Grass grows green in its streets, the streets are still 

and deserted ; 
Over them arch the elms, the gothic roof of a temple. 
Birds are the only choirs, the wind is a deep-sounding 

As it plays on the brandies of pines hanging over the 

Moss is deep on thy roofs, Norridgewock ! old are 

thy houses ! 


l*ast air the jialmy days mIumi thy stores were busy 

\\\\\\ traflic, 
And (»n tin* «,T('cii were hoard tlu' merry voiees of 

Uarely now the dust of thy street is disturbed h\ a 

And a stnmi^er passinc^ on foot is regarded with wonder. 
But thy l)eauty remains, tliy wooded liills and tliy 

And the pastures dotted witli sheep or ruminant cattle, 
And tliy Kennehee. unehaiiured yet eonstantly ehanpn*?, 
Varyini; with the sky, now sombre, now gleefully 

As the joyous breeze and the sunbeams play on its 

waters ; 
Now refleeting its l)anks and tiie oUl oaks 1)endin£7 

above it ; 
Or polden lights from the clouds, when tjje wind is 

still and the sunset 
Pr4ints on the western sky the glory of gold and of 


• * • 

Sunset Hill hM)k.'< down on the village, and hither the 

young folks 
Til rice in a summer carry their ba.skets and luneh on 

its siimmit. 
Tliere is a lovely view, — the Kennebec valley, the river 
Calm as a windless lake, refleeting it^i banks and its 

Hidden here, and here in sight, till It reaches Skow- 



Under us lies the village, but lost mid its elms aud 

its maples. 
Watched by the old church tower aud the court-house, 

long since deserted, 
Aud in the west are the mountains, all faint and blue 
in the distance. 

* * * 

Nathan Haskell Dole. 


'rp IS morning over Norridgewock, — 

-L On tree and wigwam, wave and rock. 
Bathed in the autumnal sunshine, stirred 
At intervals bj breeze aud bird, 
And wearing all the hues which glow 
In heaven's own pure and perfect bow. 

That glorious picture of the air, 
Which summer's light-robed angel forms 
On the dark ground of fading storms. 

With pencil dipped in sunbeams there, - 
And, stretching out, on either hand, 
O'er all that wide and unshorn land. 
Till, weary of its gorgeousness. 
The aching and the dazzled eye 
Rests, gladdened, on the calm blue sky, — 

Slumbers the mighty wilderness ! 
The oak, upon the windy hill. 

Its dark green burthen upward heaves; 
The hemlock broods above its rill. 
Its cone-like foliage darker still. 

144 ih) of tlaces. 

Against tlic liircirs j^'raccful stem, 
Ami tlu' rough \valiuil-l)()iigh receives 
The suii upon its crowded leaves, 

Each colored like a U)\)nz gem; 

And I lie tall maple wears with them 
The coronal, which autunui gives, 

The brief, bright sign of ruin near, 

The hectic of a dying year ! 

Jo/in Greenlcaf Whitilct 

Xoi'tJunnpton, Mass. 


I"^UE from thy calm seclusion ])arted, 
-^ (J fairest village of the i)lain ! 
The thoughts that here to life have started 
Draw me to Nature's heart again. 

The tasselled maize, full grain or clover, 
Far o'er the level meadow grows, 

And through it, like a wayward rover. 
The noble river gently Hows. 

Majestic elms, with trunks unshaken 
\\\ all the storms an age can l)ring, 

Trail sj)rays whose rest the /.ci)hyrs waken. 
Yet lithesome with the juice of spring. 

By sportive airs the foliage lifted, 

Each green leaf shows its white below, 


As foam on emerald wa\cs is drifted, 
Their tints alternate come and go. 
* * . * 

And when the distant mountain ranges 
In moonlight or blue mist are clad. 

Oft memory all the landscape changes, 
And pensive thoughts are blent with glad. 

For then, as in a dream Elysian, 
Yal d'Aruo's fair and loved domain 

Seems, to my rapt yet wakiug vision. 
To yield famihar charms again. 

Save that for dome and turret hoary, 

Amid the central valley lies 
A white church-spire unkno^ni to storv. 

And smoke-wreaths from a cottage rise. 

On Holyoke's summit woods are frownin"-, 

ISo line of cypresses we see, 
Nor convent old with beauty crowning 

The heights of sweet Fiesole. 


Eenry Theodore Tuckerman. 


OW many years have made their flights, 
Northampton, over thee and me. 
Since last I scaled those purple heights 
That guard the pathway to the sea; 



Or fliinbrd, as now, tlio topmost crown 
Of wrstcrn ridi^'os, wlicncc again 

I SIT, lor miles Jjcyond tlic town, 
That sunlit stream divide the ]>lain "r* 

There still the i^iant warders stand 

And watch the current's downward flow, 

And northward still, with threateninji,' hand, 
The river bends his ancient bow. 

I sec the ha/.y lowlands meet 

The sky, and count each shining spire, 

From those which s])arklc at my I'ect 
To distant steeples tipt with lire. 

For still, old town, thcju art the same: 
The redbreasts sing their choral tune, 

'Within thy mantling elms aflame, 
As in that other, dearer June, 

"Wlicn here niy footsteps entered first, 
And summer perfeet beauty wore, 

And all tliy charms u])on me bui-st, 
"While Tiife's whole journey lay before. 

Here every fnigraiit walk iTmains, 
"Where iiappy maidens come and go. 

And students saunter in the hmcs 
And hum the songs 1 used to know. 

T gaze, yet find myself alone, 
And walk with solitary feet: 


How strange these wonted ways Lave grown ! 
"Where are the friends I used to mcct'r 

In yonder shaded Aeademe 

The rippling metres flow to-day, 
But other boys at sunset dream 

Of love, and laurels far away; 

And ah ! from yonder trcllised home. 
Less sweet the faces are that peer 

Than those of old, and voices come 
Less musically to my ear. 

Sigh not, ye breezy elms, but give 
The murmur of my sweetheart's vows, 

When Ijife was something worth to live. 
And Love was young beneath your boughs ! 

Tade beauty, smiling everywhere. 
That can from year to year outlast 

Those charms a thousand times more fair. 
And, oh, our joys so quickly past ! 

Or smile to gladden fresher hearts 
Henceforth: but they shall yet be led, 

Revisiting these ancient parts. 

Like me to mourn their glory fled. 

Edmund Clarence Stedman. 


Koj'wich^ Conn, 



11 A 111) 1.1) by fircliii.i^ .^streams and wooded monn- 
J t;iiiis, 

Like sentinels round a queen, 
Doited with j^roves and musical with fountains, 
The city lies serene. 

Not far away the Atlantic tide diverges, 

And, up the soutlieru shore 
Of pray New Knirland, ix)lls in shortened surges, 

That inurniur evermore. 

The fairy city ! not for frowning castle 

Do 1 extol her name, 
Not for the gardens and the domes palatial 

Of oriental fame; 

Yet if Iheiv he one nimi um. will not niUy, 

One man, who sayeth not 
That of all citirs in the Ka.stern valley 

Ours is tin' fairest sjM>t ; 

Then let liim roam licneath those elms gigantic, 

Or idly wander where 
Shctueket flows nu-andcring, when' Yantic 

Leaps throiigJi the cloven air; 

Gleaming from rock to rock with sunlit motion, 
T" . II .slumbering in the cove; 


So sinks the soul, from Passion's wild devotion, 
To the deep calm of Love. 

And journey with me to the Yillage olden, 

Among whose devious ways 
Are mossy mansions, rich with legends golden 

Of early forest days ; 

Elysian time ! when, by the ripphng water, 

Or in the woodland groves, 
The Indian warrior and the Sachem's daughter 

Whispered their artless loves; 

Legends of fords, where Uncas made his transit. 

Fierce for the border war, 
And drove all day the alien Narragansett 

Back to his haunts afar; 

Tales of the after-time, when scant and humble 

Grew the Mohegan band, 
And Tracy, Griswold, Huntington, and Trumbull 

Were judges in the land. 

So let the caviller feast on old tradition. 

And then at sunset climb 
Up yon green hill, where on his broadened \-ision 

May burst the view subhme ! 

Tlie city spires, with stately power impelling 

The soul to look above. 
And peaceful homes, in many a rural dwelling. 

Lit up with flames of love ; — 


And then coutoss, nor longer idly dally, 

Wiiilo sinks the lingering sun, 
That of all fitirs in the Eastern valley J 

Ours is the fairest one. 1 

* 4> * 

Edmund Clarence Stedman. 

Ossi/)rp, flic LaJi'Cy X, TT. 


FOR ^vr(•ks the clouds had raked the hills, 
And vexed the vales with niining ; 
And all the woods were sad with mist, 
And all the brooks complaining. 

At last a sudden night-storm tore 

The niountain veils asimder, 
And swejit the valleys clean before 

The besom of the tliund<r 

Througli Sandwicli Notch the west-wind sang 

Ciood-morrow to the cotter; 
And once again f'hocorua's l»om 

Of shadow ])ier(Md the water. 

Above his broad lake, Ossipee, 
Once more the sunshine wearing, 

Stooped, tracing on that silver shield 
His grim armorial bearing. 


Clear drawn against tlie liard blue sky. 

The peaks had winter's keenness ; 
And, close on autumn's frost, the vales 

Had more than June's fresh greenness. 


You should have seen that long liill-range 

With gaps of brightness riven, — 
How through each pass and hollow streamed 

The purple lights of heaven; 

Rivers of gold-mist flowing down 

From far celestial fountains ; 
The great sun flaming through the rifts 

Beyond the wall of mountains ! 

John Greenleaf Wldttier, 

Otter, the River, Vt, 


AHUNDKED times the Summer's fragrant blooms 
Have laden all the air with sweet perfumes, — 
A hundred times along the mountain-side 
Autumn has flung his crimson banners wide, — 
A hundred times has kindly Winter spread 
His snowy mantle o'er the violet's bed, — • 
A hundred times has Earth rejoiced to hear 
The Spring's hght footsteps in the forest sere. 
Since on yon grassy knoll the quick, sharp stroke 
Of the young woodman's axe the silence broke. 

15:? roKMS OF PLACES. 

Not tlicu did tliesc rucirfliiig liills look down 
On qunint old farmhouse or on stecplod town. 
No cinnrii-spin's pointed to tin' jurhing skies; 
No wandering lovei*s saw flic nioon arise ; 
No cliildisii laughter mingled with the song 
Of tlie fair Otter, as it llowed ahnig 
As brightly then as now. Ah ! little recked 
The joyous river, when the sunshine fleeked 
Its dancing wavelets, that no human eye 
Gave it glad weleomc as it frolicked by ! 
The long, uncounted yeai-s had eonie and llowu, 
And it had still swept on, unseen, unknown, 
Biding its time. No minstrel sang its })raisc, 
No jKxt named it in immortal lays. 
It played no j)art in legendary lore, 
And youuLT l^nni.nifc LiK'w not its Minding shore 


r<irLi r Hirrr^ JltLs^s, 


SMI I Mill U, |(.:U. 

^piIUOLGII br«»:m i:ii;iiiiiiii: iiM;m<i«s ui iiiihi\*n gr;i>>. 

^/ *- That forms nt its outlet a h)ng narrow pass, 
The river eonies down 
By fanns high tillage gives note to the town, 


As sparkling and bright 
As it gladdened the sight 
Of the fathers who first found its beautiful shore, 
And felt here was home, — thsy need wander no more. 

When the swallows were gathering in flocks for their 

As if conscious some foe of their kind were in sight, 

They pushed up the stream 
In the low level rays of the sun's lingering beam, 

That lit all below 

With a magical glow, 
That brought by resemblance old England to mind. 
Whose shores they had left with such heart-ache behind. 

The golden-rod waved its briglit pinnies from the bank, 
As if all the sunshine of summer it drank. 

And grapes full and fair 
Their wild native fragrance flung out on the air; 

And asters, and all 

The gay flowerets of fall 
That lengthen the season's long dreamy delight. 
Were crowding the woodside their beauty made bright. 

In the soft sunny days of September they came. 
When the trees here and there were ahglit with the 

That betokens decay 
And the passing of summer in glory away; 

As if the great Cause 

Of Nature's grand laws 


Had sot liis red signet tlmt hcrr sliould be stayed 
The tide of the year in its pomp and parade. 

And now, as I stand on tliis hroad open l»rii;l»t, 
And take in tho view with cni-aptnred dcliglit, 

I foci as tlioy felt 
Who in fervor of sonl l)y tliesc hrij^lit waters knelt 
Tliat liere I coiild rest 
In the consciousness l)lcst 
That Natnre lias given all heart, hand, or eye 
Conld crave for contentment that earth can snpply 

The limitless ocean tiiat stretches away s 

Beyond the briirht ishts that lii^'ht np the bay, 

The murnuirous roar 
Of the snrf brcakinj^ in on tiic long line of shore. 

And rivers that rnu 

Like gold in the snn, 
And broad snnny hillsides and bright breezy groves, 
And all one instinctively longs for and h)vcs. 

Trees bending with frnit tonched with tints of the morn 
Fields soft witli the late springing verdure unshoni. 

And glimpses so fair 
Of city and river and sails here and there, 
And cottages white 
On the beach by the light, — 
The pictnrcsque roadside, and vistas that seem 
Tiike ojwnings to fairy-land seen b«it in dream. 

• • • 

Adieu, gentle river I though long 1 may wait 
Ere here I shall stand at the day's golden gate. 


And take in the view- 
That brings back the past as so old and so new ; 
Yet memory will still 
Haunt this storied old hill 
Whence I see as in vision the prospect unrolled 
In all the bright splendor of purple and gold. 

Hetiri/ Henderson. 

Pawtucket Falls, E, /. 


AT last a sound, like murmurs from the shore, 
Of far-off ocean when the storm is bound, 
Grows on his car, and still increases more 
As he advances, till the woods resound, 
And seem to tremble with the constant roar 

Of many waters. Ay, the very ground 
Begins to shake, when 'neath the arching trees, 
Bright glimmering, and fast gliding down, he sees 

Broad rushing waters, — to their dizzy steep 

Hither they come ; thence, glimmering far as sight, 

Up 'twixt the groves can trace their coming sweep ; 
Here, from the precipice all frothy white, 

Uttering an earthquake in their headlong leap, 
And flinging sunbows o'er their showery, flight, 

And bursting wild, — down, down, all foam they go 

To the dark gulf, and smoke and boil below. 


Thence, hui-rying onward through the narrow bound 
Of banks precipitous, they murmuring go, 

Till by the jutthig cliffs half wheeling round, 
They leave the view among the hills below. 

There paused our father, ravished with the sound 
Of the wild waters, and their rapid flow; 

Aiid there, all lonely, joyed that he had found 

Thy Tails, Pawtucket, and where Seekonlv wound. 

Job Burfee. 

Pemaquidy Me. 


WHERE ocean breezes sweep across the restless deep 
It stands, with headstones quaint with sculpture 
Its green turf thickly sown with dust of lives unknown. 
Like withered leaves on autunni pathway strewed. 

Willow nor cypress bough shadow tlie dead l)clow, 
Nor mournful yew, by summer's soft breath stirred; 
The dawn, and twilight's fall, never made musical 
By carol clear of some sweet-throated bird. 

Not from the sunny earth, her tones of sylvan mirth, 

Her flowery meads, and plains of waving corn, 

But from the treacherous waves, their rocks and sparry 

Unto their rest were these sad sleepers borne. 



Perchance tlioy liad their lionic far from tlio crested foam, 
And bhie seas rippling o'er tlic pink-lipped shells. 
Some Ljreen vale far away, where sweet-voieed waters 

And the bee murmurs in the MJhl-flower's bells. 

O churchyard drear and lone! haunted by voices gone 
And silent feet, and lives like rose leaves shed, 
Thy dust shall yet arise, when from our earthly skies 
Mists fade away and seas give up their dead. 


Pcmigewasscty tJtr liiver, N. H, 


I SHUT -my eyes in the snow-fall ' 
And dream a dream of the hills. 
The sweep of a host of mountains, 
The flash of a hundred rills, 

For a moment they crowd my vision; 

Then, moving in troops along, 
Tlicy leave me one still mountain-picture, 

The murmur of one river's song. 

'Tis the musical Pemigewasset, 
That sings to the hemlock-trees 

Of the pines on the Profile Mountain, 
Of the stony Face that sees, 

158 1'cji:ms of places. 

lar ilowii ill the vast rock-hollows 

The waterfall of the Flume, 
Tlic Ijlitlie caseade of llie Jiasiii, 

And the deep Tool's lonely gloom. 

All iiiglit, from the cottage- window 

I can liear the river's tunc; 
But tlie hushed air gives no answer 

Save the hemlocks' sullen rune. 

A lamh's ])K'at breaks through the stillness, 
And into tlie heart of night. — 

Afar and around, the mountains, 
Veiled watchers, expect tlie liglit. 

Then up comes the radiant morning 
To .smile on their vigils grand; 

Still mullh-d in cloudy mantles 
Do their stately ranges stand ? 

It is not the lofty Haystacks 

riled up by the great Notch-Gate, 

Nor the glow of the Oannon Mountiiiu, 
Tliat the Dawn and 1 await. 

To loom out of northern vapors; 

But u shadow, a pencilled line, 
Tiiat grows to an edge of opal 

Where c<irth-light and hcavcn-light shine. 

^'ow nise-tints Idoom from the pur])]e ; 
\..u tin- blue climbs over the green; 


Now, bright in its bath of suiisliiiic, [ ^ 
The whole grand Shape is seen. 

Is it one, or ummnibered summits, — r 

The Vision so high, so fair. 
Hanging over the singing liiver 

In the magical depths of air? 

Ask not the name of my monntain ! • 
Let it rise in its grandeur lone; 

Be it one of a mighty thousand, 
Or a thousand blent in one. 

Would a name evoke new splendor 
From its wrapping and folds of light. 

Or a line of the weird rock-writing 
Make plainer to mortal sight ? 

You hav3 lived and learnt this marvel: 

That the holiest jo}^ that came 
From its beautiful heaven to bless you, 

Nor needed nor found a name. 

Euongh, on the brink of the river 

Looking up and away, to know 
That the Hill loves the Pemigewasset. 

And broods o'er its murmurous flow. 

Perhaps, if the Campton meadows 

Should attract your pilgrim feet 
Up the summer road to the mountains, 

You may chance my dream to meet ••, 

160 POKMS OF ri-.VCKS. 

Eitljor niino, or one moiv wondrous. 

Or prrli.ips you will look, and say 
You l)i'h )lil only rooks and sunshine, 

Be it dying or birth of day. 

Though you find hut the stones that build it, 
I shall sec t'.irough the snow-fall .still, 

Ilangiug over the rcmigcwasset, 
My glorifu'd, drcani-crowncd Hill. 

Lrr. L,rr,u 

Penikese, iho J.^hiud Muss, 


0\ the i.sle of, 
Kinged about by .sapjdiire seas, 
Faiuird by breezes salt and cool, 
Stood the Master with his school. 
Over sails that not in vain 
Wooed the west-wind's steady strain, 
Line of roast that low and far 
Stretched its undidating bar, 
Wings aslant al »ng the rim 
Of the waves they stooped io skim, 
Hock and i.slc and glistening bay, 
Fell the bcautifid white day. 

Said the Ma.stcr to the youth : 
. . "We have come in search of truth. 


Trying \\'ltli uncertain key 

Door by door of mystery; 

We are reaching, tlirongh His laws, 

To the garment-hem of Cause, 

Him, the endless, unbegun. 

The Unnamable, the One 

Light of all our light the Source, 

Life of life, and Force of force. 

As with lingers of tlie blind. 

We are groping here to find 

What the hieroglyphics mean 

Of the Unseen in the Seen, 

What the Thought which underlies 

Nature's masking and disguise. 

What it is that hides beneath 

Blight and bloom and birth and death. 

By past efforts unavailing, 

Doubt and error, loss and failing, 

Of our weakness made aware. 

On the threshold of our task 

Let us light and guidance ask. 

Let us pause in silent prayer ! " 

Then the Master in his place 
Bowed his head a little space, 
And the leaves by soft airs stirred. 
Lapse of wave and cry of bird 
Left tlie solemn hush unbroken 
Of that wordless prayer unspoken. 
While its wish, on earth unsaid, 
Rose to heaven interpreted. 


As, ill lifi's best lioui-s, \vc hear 
By tlic spirit's fiiKr far 
His low voice williiu us, tlms 
Tlic All-Father hiarctli us ; 
Aiul his holy car wc paiu 
AVilh our noisy words and vain. 
Not for lliin our violence 
Storming at the gates of sense, 
His the i)rinial language, his 
Tile eternal silenees ! 

Even the careless heart was moved, 
And the doubting gave assent, 
"With a gesture ivverenl, 
To the Master well-beloved. 
As thin mists are glorilled 
\\y the light they cannot hide, 
All who gazed upon him saw, 
Through its veil of tender awe, 
llow his face was still ui>lit 
By the old sweet look of it. 
Hopeful, trustful, full of cheer, 
And the K)ve that casts out fear. 
"Who the secret may declare 
Of that brief, unuttcred pniyer? 
Did the shade before him come 
Of the inevitable doom, 
Of the end of earth so near, 
Aud Eternity's new year? 

In the lap of sheltering se;is 
Bests the isle of Tenikcsc; 


But tlie lord of tlie doniaiii 
Comes not to his own again: 
Where the eyes that follow fail. 
On a vaster sea his sail 
Drifts beyond our beck and hail. 
Other hps witliin its bound 
Shall the laws of life expound; 
Other eyes from rock and shell 
Read the world's old riddles well: 
But when breezes light and bland 
Blow from Summer's blossomed land, 
When the air is glad with wings, 
And the blithe song-sparrow sings, 
Many an eye with his still face 
Shall the living ones displace. 
Many an ear the word shall seek 
He alone could fitly speak. 
And one name forevermore 
Shall be uttered o'er and o'er 
By the waves that kiss the shore. 
By the curlew's whistle sent 
Down the cool, sea-scented air; 
In all voices known to her, 
Nature owns her worshipper. 
Half in triumph, half lament. 
Thither Love shall tearful turn, 
rriendship pause uncovered there. 
And the wisest reverence learn 
Trom the Master's silent prayer. 

John Greenleaf Whiitier. 



VfOT vaiulv Homer saw it in a dream, 

i^ Circliiif^ llic world and bounding continents ; 

Our sliorc is girdled by an Ocean Stream, 

Which nearest to the Vine^'ard Sound indents. 

Tiiere fringing the azure deep are happy isles, 
Whicii swim in warmth of Equatorial seas, 

And gladden in the gracious Summer's smiles, — 
The smallest, nearest us is Penikcsc, 

A string of pearls they lie on Ocean's breast, 
Steeped in a languor brought them from afar, 

And drowse through summer days in silent rest, 
Kissed by mild waves and loved of moon and star. 

Once the shy Indian saw his shadow shake 
Across the wave, as he withdrew his spear 

From the struck bass, or heard within the brake 
The tender grass torn by the feeding deer. 

Those dumb, wr.ste centuries of loss arc o'er, 
A belter, nol)ler day to them succeeds: 

Now Science rears her watch-tower by tlie shore. 
Round it are scholars whom a teacher leads. 

The light within the watch-tower is his mind. 
Cosmic, witii forms of life which end in man; 

There all the tribes their place in order find, 
As if he read the thought of God's own plan. 



Oh ! happy ones wlio read the book of life. 
Till ye througli him in wisdom daily grow. 

To find hoM' far above Earth's barren strife 
Is the soul's hunger — toil divine — to know. 

What pastoral lives of true simplicity ! 

Plain living and high thinking, with the bond 
Between them of a lofty sympathy, 

Whose circlet rings this world and worlds beyond. 

Hail ! generous heart which gave its home of years ! 

Hail, too, ye youth who lean on such a guide ! 
Long may the shrine which now glad Science rears 

Shine Uke a load-star o'er the waters wide. 

Thomas Gold Ap]pleton, 

Penobscot, the Bay, Me. 


FAR eastward o'er the lovely bay, 
Penobscot's clustered wigwams lay 
And gently from that Indian town 
The A^rdant hillside slopes adown. 
To where the sparkling waters play 

Upon the yellow sands below; 
And shooting round the winding shores 
Of narrow capes, and isles which lie 
Slumbering to ocean's lullaby, — 




With bii'clicu boat and glancing oars, 

The red men to their fishing go ; 
Wliilc from their phmting ground is borne 
The treasure of the golden corn, 
By laughing girls, whose dark eyes glow 
"Wild through the locks which o'er them flow. 
The wrinkled squaw, whose toil is done. 
Sits on her bear-skin in the sun. 
'Watching the buskers, with a smile 
For each full ear which swells the pile ; 
And the old chief, who nevermore 
May bend the bow or pull the oar. 
Smokes gravely in his wigwam door. 
Or slowly shapes, with axe of stone, 
The arrow-head from flint and bone. ~ 

Beneath the westward turning eye 
A thousand wooded islands lie, — 
iGems of the waters! — with each hue 
Of brightness set in ocean's blue. 
Each bears aloft its tuft of trees 

Touched by the pencil of the frost, 
And, with the motion of each breeze, 
A moment seen, — a moment lost, — 
Changing and blent, confused and tossed, 
The brighter with the darker crossed 
Thoir thousand tints of beauty glow 
Down in the restless waves below. 
And tremble in the sunny skies, 
As if, from waving bough to bough, 
rutted the birds of paradise. 

PENonsroT, THE hay. 167 

There sleep Placentia's group, — and there 
P«'re Brctcaux marks the hour of prayer; 
And there, beueatli the sea-woni elitl*, 

()u wliieh the Father's hut is seen. 
The Indian stays liis roeking skill', 

And peers the hemloek-bouglis betwron. 
Half trembling, as he seeks to look 
Upon the Jesuit's Cross and Book, 
Tiiere, gloomily against tiic sky 
Tlic Dark Isles rear their summits high; 
And Dcscit Rock, abrupt and bare, ' 
Lifts its gniy turrets in the air, — 
Seen from afar, like some stronghold 
Built by the oeean kings of old ; ' 

And, faint as smoke-wreatii uhitc and tliin, 
Swells in the north vast Kat.ihdin : 
And, wandering from its marshy feet. 
The broad Penobscot comes to meet 

And mingle with his own bright bay. 
Slow sweep his dark and gathering floods, 
Arched over by the ancient woods, 
"VVhieh Time, in those dim solitudes. 

Wielding the dull axe of Decay, 

Alone hath ever shorn away. 

John Greenleaf JTlittier. 


Penobscot, the Eivcr, 3fe, 


NoRKMBEOA, or Norinil)c;:uc, is the name pivrn by early French fisher- 
men and explorers to a faljulmis country southwest of Cape Breton, tirst 
discovered hy Verrazzani in l'y2k It was supposed toliave n mo}:niticpnt 
city of the same name on a prreat river, prohalily the Penol)scot. The site 
of tiiis harliaric city is laid down on a map published at Antwerp in 157<'. 
In IGtKl- Champlain sailed in search of tlie Nortliern Eldorado, twenty-two 
leagues up the Peno!)3Cot from the Isle Haute. He sui)posed the river 
to be that of Xorembega, but wisely came to the conclusion that those 
travellers win told ol t\\'. irreat city had never seen it. He saw no evi- 
dences of anything like civilization, but mentions the finding of a cross, 
very old and mossy, in tt.e Woods. 

Til J] wiiuliuf,' way llic stTjioiit takes 
TIk; invstic water took, 
From wlicro, to count its biatlctl lakes, 
Tiic forest si)ecl its l)rook. 

A narrow space 'twixt shore and shore, 

For sun or stars to fall, 
"While evermore, hehiiul, before, 

Clobcd ill llic forest wall. 

The dim wood hidiiiij underneath 

AVan flowers withotit a name; 
Life tangled with decay and death, 

Leaf^ue after league the same. 

Unbroken over swamp and hill 

The roundiiii^ shadow lay. 
Save where the river cut at will 

A pathway to the day. 


Beside tliat track of air and liglit, 

Weak as a child uuAveaiicd, 
At slmt of day a Christian kniu:lit 

Upon liis henclinian leaned. 

The embers of the sunset's fires 

Along the clouds burned down; 
"I see," he said, "the domes and spires 

Of iS'orembega town." 

" Alack ! the domes, O master mine. 

Arc golden clouds on high ; 
Yon spire is but the branchless pine 

That cuts the evening skyr" 

"Oh hush and hark! What sounds are these 

But chants and holy hymns ? " 
"Thou hear'st the breeze that stirs the trees 

Through all their leafy limbs." 

"Is it a chapel bell that fills 

The air with its low tone ? " 
"Thou hear'st the tinkle of the rills, 

The insect's vesper drone." 

" The Christ be praised ! — He sets for me 

A blessed cross in sight ! " 
" Now, nay, 't is but yon blasted tree 

With two gaunt arms outright ! " 

"Be it wind so sad or tree so stark, 
It mattereth not, my knave; 


Mctliinks to funoral livmns I hark, 
The cross is for my grave ! 

" My life is sped ; I shall not sec 

My home-set sails again; 
The sweetest eyes of Normandie 

Shall watch for mc in vain. 

"Yet onward still to ear and eye 

The baffling marvel calls ; 
I fain would look before I die 

On Norembega's walls. 

"So, haply, „it shall be thy part 

At Christian feet to lay 
The mystery of the desert's heart 

My dead hand ])luckcd away. 

"Leave mc an hour of rest; go thou 
And look from yonder heights ; 

Perchance the valley even now 
Is starred with city lights." 

The henchman climbed the nearest hill, 

He saw nor tower nor town. 
But through the drear woods, lone and still. 

The river rolling down. 

He heard the stealthy feet of things 
Whose shapes he could not see, 

A flutter as of evil wings, 
The fall of a dead tree. 


TIjc pines stood black against tlir moon, 

A sword of lire l)eyond ; 
lie heard tlic wolf howl, and the loon 

I^augh from his reedy pond. 

Ho turned him back : " O master dear, 

We are but men misled; 
And thou hast sought a city here 

To find a grave instead." 

" As God shall will ! what matters where 

A true man's cross may stand, 
So Heaven Ijc o'er it here as there 

In pleasant Norman land? 

"These woods, perchance, no secret hide 

Of lordly tower and hall; 
Yon river in its wanderings wide 

Has washed no city wall; 

**Yet mirrored in the sullen stream 

The holy stars are given: 
Is Norembega, then, a dream 

Whose waking is in Heaven ? 

"No builded wonder of these lands 

My weary eyes shall see ; 
A city never made with hands 

Alone awaiteth me — 

" ' Urbs Sf/on nit/stica ' ; I see 
Its mansions passing fair. 

17^ pop:ms of places. 

^ CouiJlta cirlo' ; let ine 1)p, 

Dear Lord, a dweller tlicrc ! " 

Above the dyiup^ exile hung 

The vision of tiie bard, 
As faltered on liis failinj^ tongue 

The song of good liernard. 

The henchman dug at dawn a grave 

Beneath the hemlocks brown. 
And to the desert's keeping gave 

The lord of ficf and town. 

Years after, Avhen the Sieur Champlain 
Sailed up the unknown stream, 

And iSorembega proved again 
A shadow and a dream, 

He found the Norman's nameless grave 

"Within the hemlock's shade, 
And, stretching wide its arms to save. 

The sign that God had made. 

The cross-l)fniL,'hed tree that marked the spot 

And made it holy ground : 
He needs the eartldy city not 

Who hath the heavenly found. 

John Greenleaf irhiffu 



MIDSUMMER'S crimson moon, 
Above the hills like some night-opening rose, 
Uplifted, pours its beauty down the vale 
Where broad Penobscot flows. 

* * * 

And I remember now 

That this is liaunted ground. In ages past 
Here stood the storied Xorembega's walls 
Magnificent and vast. 

The streets were ivorv paved, 

The stately walls were built of golden ore, 

Its domes outshone the sunset, and full boughs 

Hesperian fruitage bore. 

And up this whiding flood 
Has wandered many a sea-tossed daring bark. 
While eager eyes have scanned the rugged shore, 
Or pierced the wildwood dark. 

But watched in vain; afar 
They saw the spires gleam golden on the sky, 
The distant drum-beat heard, or bugle-note 
Wound wildly, fitfully. 

Banners of strange device 

Beckoned from distant heights, yet as the stream 

Narrowed among the hills, the city fled 

A mystery, — or a dream. 


lu tlic dcei) forest hid 
Like the enehanted princess of roniuiicc. 
Wooing an endk'ss search, yet still secure 
In her unbroken trance. 

city of the Past ! 

No mirage of tlie wilderness wert thou ! 
Though yet nnfreed from the mysterious spell, 

1 deem tliec slumbering now. 

Perhaps invisible feet, 

White-sandalled, i)ass amid the moonbeams pale; 
Yon shailowy wave may l)c some lordly barge 
Drifting with phantom sad. 

The legend was not all 
A myth, it was a prophecy as well ; 
In Norembcga's cloud-rapt palaces 
The living yet shall dwell. 

Fed by its hundred lakes, 
Here shall (he river run o'er golden sands ! 
These hills in burnished tower and temple sliine 
lieneath the Builder's hands. 

Where tarries still the hour 

AVhen the true knight shall tiie cnehantmcnt break ? 

Unveil the jjcerless city of the East, 

The charmed princess wake ? 

Till then, O river! tell 

To non<.' but dreaming bards the Future's boon ! 

Till then, guard thou the mystery of the vale, 

Midsummer midnight moon ! 

France* L. 3Iace. 


Piscataqua, the Biver, N'. II, 



THOU singest by the gleaming isles, 1 
By woods, and fields of corn. 
Thou singest, and the heaven smiles 
Upon my birthday mom. 

But I Mithin a city, I, 

So full of vague unrest. 
Would almost give my life to lie 

An hour upon thy breast! 

To let the wherry listless go. 

And, wrapt in dreamy joy, 
Dip, and surge idly to and fro, 

Like the red harbor-buoy ; 

To sit in happy indolence, 

To rest upon the oars, 
Aiid catch the heavy earthy scents 

That blow from summer shores ; 

To sec the rounded suu go down, 

And with its parting fires 
Light up the windows of the town 

And burn the tapering spires ; 

And then to hear the muffled tolls 

From steeples slim and white, 
And watch, among the Isles of Shoals, 

The Beacon's orange light. 

176 roKMs or places. 

O JdviT ! flowing to tlio main 

Tlirou,u:li woods, and fields of corn, 

Ileal- Ihoii my longing and my pain 
Tiiis .sunny birthday mom ; 

And take this song wliicli sorrow shapes 

To niusie like thine own, 
And .sing it to the eliirs and capes 

And crags where I am known ! 

Thomas Bailey Aid rick. 

Pittrfichl, Mass. 


nOMKWIIAT back from tl»e village street 

^J Stands llic old-fashioned country-seat. 

Across its antique portico 

Tall ]K)plar-trces their sliadows throw; 

And from its station in tlic liaH 

An ancient timepiece says to aU, — 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever! " 

Half- way up the stairs it stands. 

And ])oints and beckons witli its liands 

From its case of massive oak, 

Like a monk, who, under liis cloak, 

Crosses hiiiisclf. and siirlis. ala.s ! 


TVitli sorrowful voice to all who pass, — 
" Forever — never ! 
Never — forever !" 

By day its voice is low and light; 

But in the silent dead of night, 

Distinct as a passing footstep's fall. 

It echoes along the vacant hall, 

Along the ceihng, along the floor, 

And seems to say, at each chamber-door, — 

"Forever — never! 

Never — forever ! " 

Through days of sorrow and of mirth, 
Through days of death and days of birth, 
Througli every swift vicissitude 
Of chaugcful time, unchanged it has stgod. 
And as if, like God, it all things saw, 
It calmly repeats those words of awe, — 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! " 

In that mansion used to be 
Free-hearted Hospitality ; 
His great fires up the chimney roared; 
The stranger feasted at his board; 
But, like the skeleton at the feast. 
That warning timepiece never ceased, — 

" Forever — never ! " 

Never — forever ! " 

There groups of merry children played. 
There youths and maidens dreamiug strayed ; 


i)rccious hours ! g(jldcii prime, 
And uflluciicc of love and time 1 
Even as a miser counts liis gold, 
Those lioui-s the ancient timei)iecc told, — 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! " 

From that chamber, clothed in wliitc, 
The bride came forth on iier wedding-n.ght; 
There, in that silent room below. 
The dead hiy in his shroud of snow ; 
And in the hush that followed the prayer, 
Was heard the old clock on the stair, — 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! " 

All are scattered now and lied, 
Some are married, some are dead; 
And when I ask, with throbs of pain, 
" Ah ! when shall they all meet again ? " 
As in the days long since gone by, 
The ancient timepiece makes reply, — 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! " 

Never here, forever tiiere, 
AVhere all parting, ])ain, and care. 
And death, and time shall disappear, — 
Forever there, but never here ! 
The horologe of Eternity 
Sayeth this incessantly, — 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! " 

Ilenri/ Jl'adsicorth Loiifjfelloir. 


Plum Island, Mass, 


WE floated iu the idle breeze, 
With all our sails a-shiyer; 
The shiiiiug tide came softly through. 
And filled Plum Islaud River. 

The shiuiug tide stole softly up 

Across the wide green splendor. 
Creek swelHng creek till all in one 

The marshes made surrender. 

And clear the flood of silver swung 

Between the brimming edges, 
And now the depths were dark, and now 

The boat slid o'er the sedges. 

And here a yellow sand-spit foamed 

Amid tlie great sea meadows. 
And here the slumberous waters gloomed 

Lucid in emerald shadows. 

While, in their friendly multitude 

Encamped along our quarter. 
The host of hay-cocks seemed to float 

With doubles in the water. 

Around the sunny distance rose 
A blue and hazy highland. 

180 POEMS Oi II. \i IS. 

And windini? down our wiiidinj^ way 
Thr saml-hills of IMiiin Uhind, — 

The windy dunes that hid tlic sea 

For many a dreary aere, 
And nuiflled all its thundering fall 

Along the wild South Breaker. 

M'c erept by Oldtown's marshy mouth, 

By reedy Rowley drifted, 
But far away the Ipswich bar 

Its white caps tossed and shifted. 

Sometimes we heard a bittern boom, 
Sometimes a piping plover, 

Sometimes tlierc came the lonesome cry 
Of white gulls Hying over. 

Sometimes, a sudden fount of light, 
A sturgeon splashed, and fleeting 

Behind the sheltering thatch we heaixl 
Oars in tlie rowloeks beating. 

But all the rest was silence, save 
The ri|)pliiig in the rushes, 

The gentle gale that struck the sail 
In fitful swells and gushes. 

Silence and summer and the sun, 

Waking a wizard legion. 
Wove a.H we went their ancient spells 

!■' •'••- ' ' v!*"d region. 


No spectral care could part the veil 

Of mist and simbeaiiis shredded. 
That everywhere behind lis closed 

The labyrinth we threaded. 

Beneath our keel the great sky arched 

Its liquid light and azure; 
We swung between two heavens, ensphered. 

Within their charmed embrasure. 

Deep in that watery firmament. 

With flickering lustres splendid. 
Poised in his perfect flight, we saw 

The painted hawk suspended, 

And there, the while the boat-side leaned. 

With youth and laughter laden. 
We saw the red fin of the perch. 

We saw the swift manhaden. 

Outside, the hollow sea might cry. 

The wailing wind give warning; 
No whisper saddened us, shut in 

With sunshine and the morning. 


Oh, far, far off the weary world 

With all its tumult waited, 
Torever here with drooping sails 

Would we have hung belated ! 

Yet, when the flaw came rufiling down. 
And round us curled and sallied. 

roKMb OF 1' LACES. 

Wf skiinnied witli bubbles on our track, 
As glad as when wc dallied. 

Broadly tlio bare brown Iluiidi*cds rose, 
The herds their hollows keeping, 

And elouds of wings about her mast 
Fronj Swallowbauks were sweeping. 

AVhilc evermore the BlulT before 

Grew greenly on our vision, 
Lifting beneath its waving boughs 

Its grassy slopes Elysian. 

There, all day long, the summer sea 
Creams murmuring up the shingle; 

There, all day long, the airs of curth 
With airs of heaven mingle. 

Singing we went our happy way, 
Singing old songs, nor noted 

Another voice that with us sang, 
As Aving and wing we floated. 

Till hushed, we listened, while the air 
With music still W!u> beating, 

Voice answering tuneful voice, again 
The words we sang rci)cating. 

A flight of fluting echoes, sent 

"With ellin carol o'er us, — 
More sweet than bird-song in the prime 

Rang out the sea-blown chorus. 


Bcliind those dimes the storms had heaped 

111 all fantastic fashion, 
Who syllabled onr songs in strains 

Remote from hmnan passion? 

What tones were those that canght our own, 
Filtered through hght and distance, 

And tossed them gayly to and fro 
With such a sweet insistence ? 

What shoal of sea-sprites, to the sun 

Along the margin flocking, 
Dripping with salt dews from the deeps, 

Made this melodious mocking? 

We laughed, — a hundred voices rose 

In airiest, fairiest laughter ; 
We sang, — a hundred voices quired 

And sang the whole song after. 

One standing eager in the prow 

Blew out his bugle cheerly. 
And far and wide their horns replied 

More silverly and clearly. 

And falling down the faUiug tide. 

Slow and more slowly going, 
Flown far, flown far, flo\vu faint and fine, 

We heard their horns still blowing. 

Then, with the last delicious note 

To other skies alluring, 

Down ran the sails; beneath the Bluff 

The boat lay at her mooring. 
* * * 

Harriet Prescott Spnfford. 


Phpn utli, Mass. 


THE pilc^rim fatlicrs, — -where arc tlicy ? 
The waves that brouglit them o'er 
Still roll in the bay, and throw their spraj 

As they break along the shore : 
Still roll in the bay, as they rolled that day, 

"When the May-Plower moored below, 
Wlien the sea around m'iis ))laek with storms. 
And white the shore with snow. 

The mists, that wrapped the pilgrim's sleep, 

Still brood upon the tide ; 
And his roeks yet keep their wateh l)y the deep, 

To stay its waves of ])ride. 
But the snow-white sail, that he gave to the gale, 

T\'hen the heavens looked dark, is gone; 
As an angel's wing, through an opening cloud, 

Is seen, ami then withdrawn. 

Tiie ])ilgriin exile — sainted name! — 

The hill, whose icy brow 
Kejoieed, when he came, in the morning's flame, 

In the morning's flame burns now. 
And tlie moon's eold light, as it hiy that night 

On the hillsidn and the sea. 
Still lies where he laid his houseless liead ; — 

But thf jtilLTini — where is he? 



The pilgrim fathers arc at rest : 

AVhcii Summer 's throned on high, 
And the workl's warm l)reast is in verdure dressed, 

Go, stand on the liill wliere they lie. 
The earliest ray of the golden day 

On that hallowed spot is cast; 
And the evening sun, as he leaves the world, 

Looks kindly on that spot last. 

The pilgrim spirit has not fled : 

It walks in noon's broad light ; 
And it watches the bed of the glorious dead, 

With the holy stars, by night. 
It watches the bed of the brave who have bled, 

And shall guard this ice-bound shore, 
Till the waves of the bay, where the May-PIowcr lay, 

Shall foam and freeze no more. 

John Pierpont. 


THE breaking waves dashed high 
On a stern and rock-bound coast. 
And the woods against a stormy sky 
Their giant branches tossed ; 

And the heavy night hung dark 

The hills and waters o'er, 
Wlien a band of exiles moored their bark 

On the wild New England shore. 

IX) l'()KM> «)K I'LACES. 

N«)i .l^ (lie coiKnicror comes, 

They, the true-hearted, cainc; 
Not with the roll of the stirring drums, 

Aud the trumiM?t that sings of fame; 

Not as the flying come, 

III silence and in fear; — 
Tiiey shook the depths of the desert gloom 

With their hymns of lofty cheer. 

Amidst the storm they sang, 

And the stars heard, and the sea ; 

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rani 
To the anthem of the free ! 

The ocean eagle soared 

From his nest hy the white wave's foam ; 
And the rocking junes of the fmist roind - 

This was their welcome hoiu 

Tiicrc were men witli hoary hair 

Amidst that pilgrim hand ; — 
Why had they come to wither there. 

Away from their childhood's laud? 

There was woman's fearless eye. 

Lit hy her deep love's truth; 
There was manhood's brow, serenely high, 

And the fiery heart of youth. 

What sought they thus afar? 

Bright IrWils (if the iiiiiu- ^ 


Tlie wealth of seas, the spoils of war ? — 
They sought a faith's pure shrine ! 

Ay, call it holy ground. 

The soil where first they trod ; 
They have left unstained what there they found, — 

Treedom to worship God. 

Felicia Hem an s. 


I SAT one evening in my room. 
In that sweet hour of twilight 
When blended thoughts, half light, half gloom, 

Throng through the spirit's skyliglit ; 
The flames by fits curled round the bars, 

Or up the chimney crinkled. 
While embers dropped hke falling stars. 
And in the ashes tinkled. 

I sat and mused; the fire burned low. 

And, o'er my senses stealing, 
Crept something of the ruddy glow 

That bloomed on wall and ceiling; 
My pictures (they are very few. 

The heads of ancient wise men) 
Smoothed down their knotted fronts, and grew 

As rosy as excisemen. 

My antique high-backed Spanish chair 
Felt thrills through wood and leather. 


That liad l)v^oii straiigors since wliilcrc, 

^licl Aiulalusiau licathcr, 
Tlio oak that made its sturdy frame; 

His hapin' arms stretched over 
The ox wliosc fortunate hide became 

The l)ottom's polislied cover. 

It came out in that famous hark, 

That brouglit our sires intrepid. 
Capacious as anotlier ark 

For funiituro decrepit; 
For, as that saved of bird and beast 

A pair for propagation, 
So has tlie scd of these increased 

And furnished half the nation. 

Kings sit, tliey say, in slippery seats ; 

But tliose slant precipices 
Of ice the nortlieru voyager meets 

Less slippery arc than this is ; 
To cling therein would pass the wit 

Of royal man (jr woman. 
And whatsoe'er can stay in it 

Is more or less than human. 

I offer to all bores this perch, 
Dear well-intentioned people 

Witli heads as void .as week-day church, 
Tongues longer than the steeple ; 

To folks with missions, whose gaunt eyes 
Sec golden ages rising, — 


Salt of the earth ! in \\-]iat queer Guys 
Thou 'rt fond of crystalliziiig ! 

My wonder, then, Avas not unmixed 

With mereiful suggestion, 
When, as my roving eyes grew fixed 

Upon tlie ehair in question, 
I saw its trembling arms enclose 

A figure grim and rusty, 
Whose doublet plain and plainer hose 

Were something worn and dusty. 

Now even such men as Nature forms 

Merely to fdl the street with, 
Once turned to ghosts by hungry Morms, 

Are serious things to meet with; 
Your penitent spirits are no jokes, 

And, though I'm not averse to 
A quiet shade, even they are folks 

One cares not to speak first to. 

Who knows, thought I, but he has come. 

By Charon kindly ferried, 
To tell me of a miglity sum 

Behind my M-ainscot buried? 
There is a buccaneerish air 

About that garb outlandish — 
Just then the ghost drew up his chair 

And said, "My name is Standish. 

" I come from Plymouth, deadly bored 
"With toasts, and songs, and speeches. 

lUO r(n:.Ms oi I'l .\( IS. 

As lon-^ and ilat as my old sword. 
As tliivadbaiv as my hivoclios : 

Tlu-y iiii(U'rstaud us Tilji^nms! tlicy, 
JSmooth men with rosy laces, 

Stren^'tli's knots and gnarls all pared away, 
And varni?>li in their places ! 

" We had some toughness in our grain, 

The eye to rightly see us is 
Not just the one that lights tlie brain 

Of drawing-room Tyrticuses : 
They t:dk about their Tilgrini blood, 

Tiieir birthright high and holy ! 
A mountain-stream that ends in mud 

Metiiinks is melancholy. 

" lie had stiir knees, the Puritan, 

That were not good at bending ; 
The liomespun dignity of man 

lie thought was worth defending; 
He did not, with his pinehl)eek ore. 

His country's sliame forgotten. 
Gild Freed(nn's eollin o'er and o'er, 

"When all uitliiii was rotten. 

" Tliese lomi aueoiiai iioasls of yoUfS, 
How can they else than vex us ? 

Where were your dinner orat<M-s 
When slavery grasped at Texas 'r* 

Dumb on his knees was every one 
That now is bold as Caesar ; 


Mere pegs to liaug au office on 
Such stalwart men as these are." 

"Good sir," I said, "you seem mucli stirred; 

The sacred comjn-omises — " 
"Now God confound the dastard word! 

My gall thereat arises : 
Northward it hath this sense alone, 

That you, your conscience blinding, 
Shall bow 3^our fooFs nose to the stone, 

When slavery feels like grinding. 

" 'T is shame to sec such painted sticks 

In Vane's and "VVinthrop's places, 
To see your spirit of Seventy-six 

Drag humbly in the traces, 
With slavery's lash upon her back, 

And herds of office-holders 
To shout applause, as, with a crack, 

It peels her patient shoulders. 

" We forefathers to such a rout ! — • 

No, by my faith in God's word ! " 
Half rose the ghost, and half drew out 

The ghost of his old broadsword. 
Then thrust it slowly back again. 

And said, with reverent gesture, 
" No, Ereedom, no ! blood should not stain 

The hem of thy w4iite vesture. 

" I feel the soul in me draw near 
The mount of prophesying; 


In tliis bleak wildcmoss 1 liear 

A Joliii the Baptist crviug; 
Far ill tlie east I see upleaj) 

The streaks of first forewariiiiip:. 
And tliev wlio sowed the liuht sliall reap 

The p)Ulen sheaves of niorniiiir. 

"Chilli of our travail and our woe, 

Liu:ht in our day of sorrow, 
Throui^'li my rapt .spirit I foreknow 

The glory of thy morrow; 
I hear .£,'reat steps, tiiat throuijh the shade 

Draw nii^her still and niirher. 
And voices call like that which hade 

The prophet come up hiu'her/' 

I looked, no form mine eyes could find, 

I heard tlie red cock crowing. 
And throui;h my window-chinks the wind 

A dismal tune hlowini?; 
Thoufxht I, My neii^'hhor I^uekingham 

Ilath somewhat in hiui i^ritty, 
Some Pilirrim-stiin* that hates all >li mi. 

And he will ju-int my ditty. 

Janus hi'ssni l.ii\rrll. 



Thf, trailing arbutus, or niayflower, gvoM's abundantly in the vicinity 
of Plymouth, and was the first flower that greeted the Pilgrims after their 
fearful winter, 

SAD Mayflower! watched by Aviiitcr stars, 
And nursed by winter gales, 
"With petals of the sleeted spars. 
And leaves of frozen sails! 

What had she in those dreary hours, 

Within her ice-rimmed bay, 
In common with the wild-wood flowers. 

The first sweet smiles of May ? 

Yet, " God be praised ! " the Pilgrim said. 

Who saw the blossoms peer 
Above the brown leaves, dry and dead, 

" Behold our Mayflower here ! " 

" God wills it : here our rest shall be. 

Our years of wandering o'er, 
For us the MayfloAver of the sea 

Shall spread her sails no more." 

O sacred flowers of faith and hope, 

As sweetly now as then 
Ye bloom on many a birchen slope. 

In many a pine-dark glen. 

Behind the sea-wall's rugged length, 
Unchano-ed, vour leaves unfold. 


Like love bchiiul llic iiianlv strength 
Of the brave hearts ol" old. 

So live the falhers in their sons, 

Their sturdy faith be ours, 
And ours the love that overruns 

Its roeky strength with llowers. 

The rilgrim's wild and wintry day 

Its shadow round us draws ; 
The Mayllower of his stormy Ijay, 

Our Freedom's struggling cause. 

But warmer suns erelong shall bring 

To life the frozen sod ; 
And, tiirough dead leaves of hope, shall spring 

Afresh the ilowcrs of God ! 

John Gieeiileaf Wluttier. 


AN old, old man ! 
His hair is white as snow, 
His feel)le footsteps slow. 
And the ligiit in his eyes grown dim. 

An old, old man ! 
Yet they bow with reverence low, 
AVitli respect they wait on him. 

They gather to his side. 

And in his way they throng: 
Greet him with love and i)ridc 


The aged and the voung. 
And the cliildreu leave their play 
As lie passes on his way, 
And afar off they follow 

This old, old man. 

He has gone down to the rock 
That is lying by the shore; 
He hath silent sate him down ; 
And the y(mng man, whose strong arm 
Hath shielded him from harm, 
"Will not disturb the dream 
That his spirit hovers o'er; 
And the gathered throng beside him 
Group tlicm on tlie shore. 

Long he sits in silence. 
The old, old man; 
TVliile the waves with silvery reach 

Go curUug up the beach. 
Or dash against the rocks in spray, — 

The huge rocks bedded deep 

At the base of the proud steep. 
Where the green ridge of Manomet 

Grandly rises far away. 

All the air is still. 
And every distant hill 
Its summit veils in soft, misty blue; 

Across the wide-spread bay, 

rive-and-twenty miles away. 
The white ehffs of Gape Cod hang in air. 


As some invstcrioiis hand, 
Or ciu'liantcr's lil'tod wand, 

Had susj)ond(Hl tlicm, and charmed them tlicrc ; 
And o'er all the waters wide, 
And the hills in snnnner pride, 

And the islands in the bay that rise, 
And over Saqnish-head 
And the Gnrnet's breakers dread, 

The mild, soft snnlii^lit like a blessing lies. 

The old man's eves grow bright. 

With the Hght of bygone days ; 

His voiec is strong and clear. 

His form no more is bowed. 

He stands erect and prond. 
And, dashing from his eye the indignant tear. 
He tnrns him to Ihe crowd that wait expectant near, 

And reverent on liim ga/e ; 
For they know that he lias walked 

In all the Pilgrim Mays. 

" Mark it well ! " he cries, 
"Mark it well! 
This rock on which we stand: 
For here the honored feet 
Of onr Fathers' exiled band 

J'ressed the land ; 
And not the wide, wide M'orld, 

Not either hemisphere. 
Has a sjjot in its domain 
To frcedou) half so dear." 
* * ♦ 

Caroline Franrcs Orne. 


Plymouth, K II. 


HE rose upon au early dawn of May, 
And looked upon the stream and meadow flowers. 
Then on tlic face of his beloved, and went ; 

And, passing, gazed upon tlic wayside haunt, 
The homely bndding gardens by the road, 
And harvest promise, — still he said, I go. 

Once more he mingled in the midday crowd. 
And smiled a gentle smile, a sweet farewell, 
Then moved towards the hills and laid him down. 

Lying, he looked beyond the pathless heights, 
Beyond the wooded steep and clouded peaks, 
And, looking, questioned, then lie loved and slept. 

And while he slept his spirit walked abroad, 
And wandered past the mountain, past the cloud. 
Nor came again to rouse the form at peace. 

Though like some bird we strive to follow him, 

Ernitless we beat at the horizon's verge. 

And fruitless seek the fathomless blue beyond. 

We work and wait, and water with salt tears. 
Learning to live that living we may sleep, 
And sleeping cross the mountains to God's rest. 

Annie Fields. 


roi'thiiid, jf(\ 


OFTKN I think of tlic l)caMliriil town 
Tliat is seated by tlio sea; 
Often in tliouixlit ^'o up and down 
The pleasant streets of tliat dear old town, 
And my yonlh comes back to me. 
And a verse of a Lapland song 
Is hauntinj^ my memory still: 
" A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thouirhts of youth are lonii:, long thoughts." 

1 can sec the shadowy lines of its trees, 

And catch, in smlden jj;leanis, 
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas, 
And islands that were the llesperides 
Of all my dreams. 

And the burden of that old song, 
It murmurs and whispei-s still : 
" A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts 

I remenjber the black wharves and the slips, 

And the sea-tich's tossing free; 
Anil Sjwinish saihirs with bearded lips, 
And the beauty and mystery of the ships. 

And the magic of the sea. 

And the voice of that waywanl song 



Is singing and saying still : 
"A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the tlionglits of youth are long, long thoughts." 

I remember the bulwarks by the shore, 

And the fort upon the hill ; 
The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar 
The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er. 
And the bugle wild and shrill. 
And the music of that old song 
Throbs in my memory still: 
"A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of J'outh are long, long thoughts." 

I remember the sea-fight far away, 
How it thundered o'er the tide ! 
And the dead captains, as they lay 
In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay. 
Where they in battle died. 

And the sound of that mournful song 
Goes through me with a thrill : 
" A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

I can see the breezy dome of groves. 
The shadows of Deering's Woods; 
And the friendships old and the early loves 
Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves 
In quiet neighborhoods. 

And the verse of that sweet old song 
It flutters and murmurs still: 



" A boy's M-ill is the \viiurs will, 
And the thoughts of youth arc long, long thouglits." 

I iTinember the gleams and glooms that dart 

Across the school-boy's brain ; 
The song and the silence in the heart, 
That in part arc prophecies, and in part 
Are longings "svild and vain. 

And the voice of that fitful song 
Sings on, and is never still : 
"A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

There are things of which I may not speak; 

There are dreams that cannot die ; 
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak, 
And bring a pallor into the clieck, 
And a mist before the eye. 

And the words of that fatal song 
Come over me like a chill : 
" A b(jy's Avill is the wiud's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

Strange to me now are the forms I meet 

When I visit the dear old town ; 
]5ut the native air is pure and sweet, 
And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street, 
As they balance up and down. 
Are singing the beautiful song, 
Are sighing and whispering still : 
" A boy's will is the wind's w' ill, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

rOUTl.AND. 201 

And Dccriiicr's Woods arc fresh and fair, 

And witli joy tliat is almost i)aiii 
My lirart goes l)ack to wander tliero, 
And among tlic dreams of the days that were, 
1 find niy lost youth again. 

And the strange and beautiful song, 
Tiie groves arc re|)eating it still : 
" A boy's will is the wind's Mill, 
And the thoughts of youth arc long, long thoughts." 
Ile/.ri/ WadsKorth Longfellow. 


FROM the outskirts of the town, 
"Where of old the milestone stood,- 
Now a stranger, looking down 
I behold the shadowy crown 
Of the dark and luuinted wood. 

Is it changed, or am I changed? 

Ah ! the oaks are fresh and green. 
But the friends with whom I ranged 
Through their thickets are estranged 

By the years that intervene. 

Bright as ever flows tlic sea, 

Bright as ever sliincs the sun, 
But alas ! they seem to me 
Not the sun that used to be. 

Not the tides that used to run. 

llenry Wadsvjorih Longfellow. 

202 roEMs or tlaces. 


FROM this high window, in the twihght dim, 
I look beyond a lofty garden wall, 
And see well-ordered walks and borders trim, 
With trellised vines and ranks of frnit-trees tall. 

Along the darkling shrubbery, where most 
The garden's olden lord at evening strayed, 

I half pereeivc a silent, stately ghost 

Taking dim shape against the denser shade. 

His footstep makes no rustle in the grass, 
Nor shakes the tenderest blossom on its stem ; 

The light leaves bend aside to let him pass, — 
Or is it but the wind that touelies them ? 

A statesman, M'ilh a grave, reflective air. 

Once used to walk there, in the shadows sweet; 

Now the broad apple-trees, his pride and care, 
Spread their pink carpet wide for alien feet. 

Beneath those friendly boughs, witli miiid unbent, 
lie found sometimes a respite sweet and brief; 

Threaded the waiulering ways in pleased content, 
And i)lueked a tlower, or pulled a fragrant leaf; 

Twined a stray tendril, hipped a straggling limb. 
Or raised a spray that drooped across the walk ; 

Watelied unscarcd birds that shared the shade with him, 
Saw robins build, or heard the sparrows talk. 

rOKT^MOUTU. 203 

Ilis native streets now liardly know liis niimc ; 

And in tlic world of politics, Mlicrcin 
He toiled so long and earned an lionored fame, 

It is almost as though he had not been. 

Amid the earnest eouneils of the land. 

His lofty form, his cold and clear-cut face, 

His even voice, and wise restraining hand 

Are known no more, and others take his place. 

But in this haunt of quietude and rest, 

"Which for so many years he loved and knew, 

The bird comes back to build its annual nest. 
The months return, with sun and snow and dew. 

Nature lives on, though king or statcsuian dies; 

Thus mockingly these little lives of ours, 
So brief, so transient, seem to emphasize 

The immortality of birds and llowcrs ! 

Elizabeth Akers Allen. 

Portsmouth, N. H. 


HER fingers shame the ivory keys 
They dance so light along ; 
The bloom upon her parted lips 
Is sweeter than the song. 

perfumed suitor, spare thy smiles ! 
Her thoughts are not of thee; 


She better loves the salted wind, 
The voices of the sea. 

Her licart is like an outbound ship 

That at its anchor SMing-s ; 
The niurninr of the stranded shell 

Is in the song she sings. 

She sings, and, smiling, hears her praise, 
But dreams the while of one 

Who watches from his sea-blown deck 
The icebergs in the sun. 

She questions all the winds that blow, 

And every fog-wrcatli dim, 
And bids the sea-birds flying north 

Bear messages to him. 

She speeds them with the thanks of men 

He perilled life to save, 
And grateful prayers like holy oil 

To smooth for him the wave. 

Brown Viking of the fisliing-sraack ! 

Fair toast of all the town! — 
The skipper's jerkin ill beseems 

The lady's silken gown ! 

But ne'er shall Amy Wcntworth wear 
For him the blush of shame 

Who dares to set his manly gifts 
Against her ancient name. 


The stream is brightest at its spring, 

And blood is not like wine ; 
Nor honored less tliau he ^yho heirs 

Is he who founds a line. 

Full lightly shall the prize be won. 

If love be Fortune's spur ; 
And never maiden stoops to him 

Who lifts himself to her. 

Her home is brave in JafTrey Street, 

With stately stairways woni 
By feet of old Colonial knights 

And ladies gentlc-boriL 

Still green about its ample porch 

Tlie English ivy twines, 
Trained baek to show in English oak 

The herald's carven signs. 

And on her, from the wainseot old, 

Aneestral faees frown, — 
And this has worn the soldier's sword, 

And that the judge's goM'n. 

But, strong of will and proud as they, 

She walks the gallery floor 
As if she trod her sailor's deck 

By stormy Labrador ! 

The swcetbrier blooms on Kittery-side, 
And green are Elliot's bowers ; 

206 roK.Ms or places. 

llcr garden is the pebbled beach. 
The mosses are her flowers. 

She looks across the harbor-bar 

To sec the white gulls fly; 
His greeting iVoiii the Northern sea 

Is in their clanging cry. 

She hums a song, and dreams that he, 

As in its romance okl. 
Shall homeward ride with silken sails 

And masts of beaten gold ! 

Oh, rank is good, and g(jld is fair. 

And high and low mate ill ; 
But love has never known a law 

Beyond its own sweet will ! 

Juhn Gremleaf irhiitier. 


ONE luindred years ago, and something more. 
In Queen Street, Portsmouth, at her tavern door, 
Neat as a pin, and blooming as a rose, 
Stood Mistress Stavers in her furi)elows, 
Just as her cuckoo-clock was striking nine. 
Above her head, resplendent on the sign. 
The portrait of th Earl of Halifax, 
In scarlet ct)at and j)eriwig of llax, 
Surveyed at leisure all her vjiricd charms. 
Her cap, her bodic?, her wliite folded arms, 


And half resolved, tliougli he was past his primCj 
And rather damaged by the lapse of time. 
To fall down at her feet, and to declare 
The passion that had driven him to despair. 
For from his lofty station he had seen 
Stayers, her husband, dressed in bottle-green, 
Drive his new Flying Stage-coach, four in liand, 
.Down the long lane, and- out into the land, 
And knew that he was far upon the way 
To Ipswich and to Boston on the Bay ! 

Just then the meditations of the Earl 

Were interrupted by a little girl, 

Barefooted, ragged, with neglected hair, 

Eyes full of laughter, neck and shoulders bare, 

A thin slip of a girl, like a new moon, 

Sure to be rounded into beauty soon, 

\. creature men would worship and adore, 

though now in mean habihments slie bore 

A pail of water, dripping, tlirough the street. 

And bathing, as she went, her liakcd feet. 

It was a pretty picture, full of grace, — 

The slender form, the delicate, thin face; 

The swaying motion, as she hurried by; 

The shining feet, the laughter in her eye, 

That o'er her face in ripples gleamed and glanced. 

As in her pail the shifting sunbeam danced: 

And with uncommon feelings of delight 

The Earl of Halifax Ijehcld the sight. 

Not so Dame Stavers, for he heard her say 


These words, or tlioiifjlit lie did, as i)l;uii as day: 

"O Martin Hilton! Fie! how dare you go 

About the town half dressed, and hx)kiug so ! " 

At which the gypsy lauglied, aud straight replied : 

" No matter liow I look ; I yet shall ride 

lu my own chariot, ma'am." Aud ou the eliild 

Tlie Earl of Halifax beuiguly smiled, 

As with her heavy burden she passed on, 

Looked back, then turned the corner, aud was gone. 

AVliat next, upon that memorable day, 
Arrested his attention was a gay 
And brilliant equipage, that flashed and spun, 
T!ic silver harness glittering in the sun, 
Outriders with red jackets, litiic aud lank, 
Pounding the saddles as they rose and sank, 
While all aloiu) within the chariot sat 
A portly person witii three-cornered hat, 
A crimson velvet coat, head high in air, 
Gold-headed cane, aud nicely powdered hair. 
And diamond buckles sparkling at his knees, 
Dignilied, stately, florid, much at ease. 
Onward the j)agi'ant swept, and as it passed, 
Fair Mistress Stavers courtesied low aud fast ; 
For this was Clovernor Wentworth, driving down 
To Little Harbor, just beyond tiie town. 
Where his Great House stood looking out to sea, 
A goodly place, where it was good to be. 

It was a pleasant mansion, an abode 

Nc;ir and yet hidden from the great iiigh-road, 


Sequestered among trees, a ii()l)lc pile, 

Baronial and colonial in its style ; 

Gables and dormer-windows evervwliere. 

And stacks of cliiinneys rising high in air, — 

Pandcuan pipes, on wiiich all winds that blew 

Made mournful music the whole Minter through. 

"Witiiin, unwonted splendors met the eye, 

Panels, and lloors of oak, and tapestry ; 

Carved ehinniey-pieces, where on brazen dogs 

Kcvelled and roared tlie Christmas fires of logs; 

Doors opening into darkness unawares, 

^[ystcrious passages, and iligiits of stairs ; 

And on the walls, in heavy gilded frames, 

The ancestral AVentworths with Old-Seripturc names. 

Such was the mansion where the great man dwelt, 

A widower and childless ; and he felt 

The loneliness, the uncongenial gloom. 

That like a presence haunted every room; 

Por though not given to weakness, he could feel 

The pain of wounds, that ache because they heal. 

The years came and the years went, — seven in all. 
And passed in cloud and sunshine o'er tlic Hall ; 
The dawns tlieir splendor. through its chambers shed. 
The sunsets flushed its western windows red ; 
The snow was on its roofs, the wind, the rain; 
Its woodlands were in leaf and bare again ; 
Moons waxed and waned, the lilacs bloomed and died, 
In the broad river ebbed and flowed the tide, 
Ships went to sea, and ships came home from sea, 


Alul the slow 3^cars sailed ])y and ceased to be. 

And all these years had Martha Hilton served 

In the Great House, not wholly unobserved : 

By day, by night, the silver crescent grew, 

Thougli hidden by clouds, her hglit still shining through 

A maid of all work, whether coarse or line, 

A servant who made service seem divine ! 

Tlirough her each room was fair to look upon ; 

The mirrors glistened, and the brasses shone, 

The very knocker on the outer door. 

If she but passed, was l)rightcr than before. 

And now the ceaseless turning of the mill 
Of Time, that never for an hour stands still, 
Ground oiut the Governor's sixtieth birthday, 
And powdered his brown hair with silver-gray. 
The robin, the forerunner of the spring, 
The bluebird with his jocund carolling, 
The restless swallows building in the eaves, 
The golden buttercups, the grass, tlie leaves, 
The lilacs tossing in the winds of May, 
All welcomed this majestic holiday ! 
He gave a splendid l)anquet, served on plate, 
Such as became the Governor of the State, 
AVho represenled England and the King, 
And was magnificent in everything. 
He had invited all liis friends and peers, — 
The Peppcrels, the Langdons, and the Lears, 
Tiie Sparliawks, the PenhaUows, and the rest; 
For why repeat the name of every guest? 
But I must mention one, in bands and gown, 



The rector there, llie UcvcitikI Arthur r.rowu 
Of the Establi:.hccl Ciiureh ; with smiling face 
He sat besiilc the CJovenior ami said grace; 
And then the least went on, as others do. 
But ended as none other 1 e'er knew. 

When they had drunk the King, wIlli many a cheer. 

The Governor whispered in a servant's ear, 

Who disappeared, and presently there stood 

Within the room, in perfect womanhood, 

A maiden, modest and yet self-possessed. 

Youthful and beautiful, and simply dressed. 

Can this be Martha Hilton? It must be! 

Yes, Martha Hilton, and no other she ! 

Dowered willi the beauty of her twenty years. 

How ladylike, how queenlike she appears; 

The pale, thin crescent of the days gone by 

Is Dian now in all her majesty ! 

Yet scarce a guest perceived that she was there 

Uutd the Governor, rising from his chair. 

Played slightly with his ruffles, then looked down. 

And said unto the lleverend Arthur Brown: 

"This is my birthday: it shall likewise be 

My wedding-day ; and you shall marry me 1 '* 

The listening guests were greatly mystified. 
None more so than the rector, who replied : 
"]^Iarry you? Yes, that were a pleasant task. 
Your Excellency; but to whom? I ask." 
The Governor answered: '"To this lady here"; 
And beckoned Martha Hilton to draw near. 


She came and stood, all blushes, at his side. 

The rector paused. The iuipatieut Govcnior cried : 

" This is the lady ; do you hesitate ? 

Then I command you as Chief Magistrate." 

The rector read the service loud and clear: 

" Dearly beloved, we arc gathered here," 

And so on to the end. At his command 

On the fourth finger of her fair left hand 

The Governor placed the ring; and that was all: 

Martha was Lady AVcntworth of the Hall ! 

Ilcnrif Wadsicarth Longfellow. 

Providence, E, /. 


LISTEN to his rieh words, intoned 
To songs of lofty cheer, 
AVlio in the howling wilderness, 
Mid forests wild and drear. 

Breathed not of exile nor of wrong, 
Through the long winter nights. 

But uttered in exidting song. 
The soul's unchartered rights ; 

Who sought the oracles of God 
In the heart's veiled shrine, 

Nor asked the monarch nor the priest, 
Ilis sacred laws to sign. 


The brave, high heart that Mould uot yield 

Its liberty of thought, 
Far o'er the melancholy main, 

Through bitter trials brought; 

But, to a double exile doomed. 

By Faith's pure guidance led, — 
Through the dark labyrinth of hfc. 

Held fast her golden thread. 

Listen ! The music of his dream 

Perchance may linger still 
In the old familiar ])laccs 

Beneath the emerald hill. 

The wave-worn rock still breasts the storm 

On Seekonk's lonely side, 
Where the dusk natives hailed the bark 

That bore tlieii' gentle guide. 

The spring that gushed amid the wild 

In music on his car, 
Still pours its waters, undcfiled. 

The fainting heart to cheer. 

And the fair cove, that slept so calm 

Beneath o'ershadowing Iiills, 
And bore the exile's evenmg psalm 

Far up its flowery rills, — 

The wave that parted to receive 

The pilgrim's light canoe. 
As if an angel's balmy wing 

Had stirred its waters blue, — 


Wliat though the liro-wiiigcd courser's breath 

lias swept its cooliu*^ tide, 
Aud fast bclbre its- withcriug blast, 

The rusliiug wave has dried, 

Stdl, narrowed to our crowded mart, — 

A fair cuchauted mere, — 
In the proud city's throbbing heart 

It sleeps serene aud clear. 

Or turn we to the green hill's side; 

There, with the spring-time showers. 
The wliite-thorn o'er a nameless grave, 

Kains its pale, silver flowers. 

Yet memory lingers with the past. 

Nor vainly seeks to trace 
His footprints on a rock, whence time 

Nor tempests can ellace ; 

"Whereon he planted, fast and deep. 

The roof-tree of a home 
Wide as the wings of Love may sweep, 

Tree as her thoughts may roam ; 

Where through all time the saints may dwell, 

And from pure fountains draw 

That peace ^Yhicll passeth human thought, 

lu liberty and law. 

Sarah lleleii Wlulman 



William Giild was engineer of llie train which on the 19lh of April 
plunged into Meadow Bi-ooK, on the line of the Stonington and Providence 
llailroad. It was his custom, as often as he passed liis home, to whistle 
an " All's well " to his wile. He was found, alter the disaster, dead, 
with his hand ou the throttie-vulvc of his engine. 

I'lWO low whistles, quaint and clear, 
- That was the signal the ciii^inccr — 
That was the signal that Guild, '1 is said — 
Gave to ids wife at Providence, 
As through the sleeping town, and thence 
Out in the night, 
Oil to the light, 
Down past the tarms, lying white, he sped ! 

As a husband's greeting, scant, no doubt, 
Yet to the woman looking out, 

Watching and waiting, no serenade, 
Love-song, or midnight roundelay 
Said what that whistle seemed to say : 
" To my trust true, 
So love to you ! 
Working or waiting, good night ! " it said. 

Brisk young bagmen, tourists fine. 
Old commuters along the line, 

Brakemen and porters glanced ahead. 
Smiled as the signal, sharp, intense. 
Pierced through the shadows of Providence, — 
" Nothing amiss — 


Nothing ! — it is 

Only Guild calling his Avife," they said. 

Suninicr and winter, the old refrain 
Rang o'er the billows of ripening grain, 

Piereed through the budding boughs o'erhead, 
riew down the track when the red leaves burned 
Like living coals from the engine spurned ; 
Sang as it flew : 
" To our trust true, 
First of all, duty ! Good night ! " it said. 

Aiid then, one night, it was heard no more 
From Stonington over Rhode Island shore. 

And the folk in Providence smiled and said, 
As they turned in their beds, " The engineer 
Has once forgotten his midnight cheer." 
One only knew. 
To his trust true, 
Guild lay under his engine, dead. 

Bret Ilarte. 


HOAV like a rich and gorgeous picture hung 
In memory's storied hall, seems that fair scene 
O'er which long years tlieir mellowing tints have flung. 
The wayside flowers liad faded one by one, 
Iloar were the hills, the meadows drear and dun, — 
When homeward, wending, 'neath the dusky screen 
Of the autumnal woods at close of day. 
As o'er a pine-clad height my pathway lay, 


Lo ! at a sudden turn, tlic vale l)olo\v 

Lay far outspread, all flushed with purjile lij^ht ; 

Gniy rocks and umbered woods ^ave back the glow 

Of the last day-beams, fadii)!^ into night; 

While down the glen where fair Moshaussuek flows 

With all its kindling lamj)s the distant city rose. 

Sarah Ilcfeii If'/iituian. 


THE dawn has broke, the morn is up, 
Another day begun ; 
And there thy poised and gilded s))car 

Is flashing in the sun, 
Upon that steep and lofty tower 

Where thou thy watch hast kept, 
A true and faithful sentinel. 
While all around thee slept. 

For years, upon thee, there lias poured 

The summer's noonday heat. 
And through the long, dark, starless night 

The winter storms have beat ; 
But yet thy duty has been done. 

By day and night the same. 
Still thou hast met and faced the storm. 

Whichever way it came. 

No chilling blast in wrath has swept 
Along the distant heaven, 


But thou liast watched its onward course. 

And distant warning given; 
And, when niidsunimer's sultry beams 

Oppress all living things, 
Thou dost foretell each breeze that comes 

IVith health upon its wings. 

How oft I've seen, at early dawn. 

Or twilight's quiet hour. 
The swallows, in their joyous glee. 

Come darting round their tower, 
As if, with thee, to hail the sun 

And catch his earliest light. 
And offer ye the morn's salute. 

Or bid ye both good night. 

And when, around thee or above, 

No breath of air has stirred, 
Thou seem'st to watch the circling flight 

Of each free, happy bird, 
Till, after twittering round thy head 

In many a mazy track. 
The whole delighted company 

Have settled on thy back. 

Then, if, perchance, amidst their mirth, 

A gentle breeze has sprung, 
And, prompt to mark its first approach. 

Thy eager form hath swung, 
I've thougiit I almost heard thee say. 

As far aloft they flew, — 

PKOMDKMK. '2]\i 

*' Now all a\v;iy ! here ends our |>lay. 
Fi)r 1 have work fo do I "" 

Men slander tlirr, my honest friend, 

And call thee, in their pride, 
An enihlein of their liekleness, 

Thou over-faithful puide. 
Each weak, unstable jiutnan mind 

A "weathen'oek " they call; 
And thus, unthinkingly, mankind 

Abuse thee, one and all. 

Tiicy have no right to mak-- iln nn,,.' 

A byword for their deed^ 
They ehaui^c their friends, iht ir jjiiucijilt s, 

Their fashions, and their en^eds ; 
"Whilst thou hast ne'er, like them, been kiiowii 

Thus causelessly to nini^e ; 
But when thou chan«je>t sides, canst give 

Good rciLsun for the change. 

Thou, like some lofty soul, whose course 

The thougiitless oft condemn, 
Art touched by many airs from heaven 

Which never breathe on them, — 
And moved by many impulses 

AViiieh they do never know, 
Who, round their earth-bound circles. ]i1(k1 

The dusty paths below. 

Through one more dark and cheerless night 
Thou well hast kept thy trust, 


And now in glory o'er tliy head 

The morning liglit has burst. 
And nnto earth's true watclier, tlnis, 

Wlien liis dark liours liave passed, 
"Will come "the day-spring from on high," 

To elieer his path at last. 

Bright symbol of fidelity, 

Still may I think of thee ; 
And may the lesson thou dost teach 

Be never lost on me ; 
But still, in sunshine or in storm, 
^^ Whatever task is mine. 

May I be faitliful to my trust, 
As thou hast been to thine. 

Albert G. Greene. 

Rhode Island, the Island. 


I SAT beside the glowing grate, fresh heaped 
With Newport coal, and as tlio flame grow bright, 
The many-colored flame, — and played and leaped, 
I thought of rainbows and the Northern Light, 
Moore's Lalla Uookh, the Treasury Report, 
And other brilliant matters of the sort. 

At last I thought of that fair isle which sent 
The mineral fuel; on a summer day 


1 saw it once, with heat and travel spent, 

And scratched by dwarf-oaks in the lioUow way; 
Now dnfrged throngh sand, now jolted over stone, — 
A rutTi^ed road throngh rngged Tiverton. 

And hotter grew tlie air, and hollowcr grew 

The deep-worn ])ath, and, horror-strnck, I thought 

Where will tliis dreary passage lead ine to ? 

This long, dull road, so narrow, deep, and hot? 

I looked to see it dive in earth outright; 

I looked, — but saw a far more welcome sight. 

Like a soft mist upon the evening shore. 

At once a lovely isle before me lay; 
Smooth, and with tender verdure covered o'er, 

As if just risen from its cabn iidand bay ; 
Sloj)ed each way gently to the grassy edge. 
And tlie small waves that dallied witli the sedge. 

The barley was just reaped, — its heavy sheaves 
Lay on the stubble field, — the tall maize stood 

Dark in its summer growth, and shook its leaves, — 
And briglit the sunlight played on the youn^ wood, — 

For fifty years ago, the old men say. 

The Briton hewed their ancient groves away. 

I saw where fountains freshened the green land, 
And where the pleasant road, from door to door 

"With rows of cherry-trees on either hand, 

Went wandering all that fertile region o'er, — 

Rogue's Island once, — but, when the rogues were dead, 

Rhode Island was the name it took instead. 


Beautiful island ! Hkmi it only seemed 

A lovely stranger, — it has grown a friend. 

I gazed on its smooth slopes, but never dreamed 
How soon that bright beneficent isle would send 

The treasures of its womb across the sea. 

To warm a poet's room and boil his tea. 

Dark anthracite ! that reddenest on my hearth. 
Thou in those island mines didst slumber long; 

But now thou art come forth to move the earth, 
And put to shame the men that mean thee wrong. 

Thou shalt be coals of fire to those that hate thee, 

And warm tlic shins of all that underrate thee. 

Yea, they did wrong thee foully, — they who mocked 
Thy honest face, and said thou wouldst not burn; 

Of hewing thee to chimney-pieces talked. 

And grew profane, — and swore, in bitter scorn. 

That men miglit to thy inner caves retire, 

And there, unsinged, abide the day of fire. 

Yet is thy greatness nigh. I pause to state, 
Tliat I too have seen greatness, even I, — 

Shook hands witli Adams, — stared at La Fayette, 
When, bareheaded, in the hot noon of July, 

He would not let the umbrella be held o'er him, 

For which three cheers burst from the mob before 

And I have seen — not many months ago - 
An eastern governor in chapeau bras 

And military coat, a glorious show ! 

Ride forth to visit the reviews, and ah ! 



How oft hr Mniled and bowed to Jonathan ! 

How many hands were shook and votes were won! 

'T was a great governor, — tliou too shalt l)e 

Great in tliy turn, — and wide sliall spread tliy fame. 

And swiftly; farthest .Maine shall hear of thee, 
And cold New lirunswiek gladden at thy name. 

And, faintly through its sleets, the weeping isle 

That sends the Boston folks their cod shall smile. 

For thou shalt foi"gc vast niihvays, and shalt heat 
The hissing rivers into steam, and drive 

Huge masses from thy mines, on iron feet, 
Walking their steady way, as if alive. 

Northward, till everlasting ice besets thee, 

And south as far as the grim Spaniard lets thee. 

Thou shalt make mighty engines swim the sea, 
Like its own monsters, — boats ihat for a guinea 

Will take a man to Havre, — and shalt be 
The moving soul of many a spinning-jenny, 

And ply thy shuttles, till a bard can wear 

As good a suit of broadcloth as the mayor. 

Then wc will laugh at Winter when we hear 
The grim old churl about our dwellings rave; 

Thou, from that "ruler of the inverted year," 
Shalt pluck the knotty sceptre Cowper gave, 

And pull him from his sledge, and drag him in, 

Aud melt the icicles from oif liis chin. 

William Cullen Bryant. 

224 POEMS or places. 

Rye, K H. 


ON the lone rocks of Rye, 
When tlie day grows dimmer, 
And the stars from the sky 

Shed a tremulous glimmer. 
While the low winds croon, 

And the waves, as they glisten, 
Complain to the moon, 
I linger and listen. 

All the magical whole 

Of shadow and splendor 
Steals into my soul. 

Majestic yet tender ; 
And the desolate main, 

Like a sibyl intoning 
Her mystical strain, 

Keeps ceaselessly moaning. 

I hear it spell-bound, 

All its myriad voices, — • 
Its wandering sound, 

And my spirit rejoices ; 
Tor out of the deep 

And tlie distance it crieth. 

And, deep unto deep, 

My spirit replieth. 

Thomas Durfee. 

8 A( (). IIIK lil\ }.U. 

>SV/(7>, the liicev, A. //. and M< 


FROM .\gioclHX»k's granite streps, 
F " '^ > rolls ill chaiiilcss pride. 

H(j ' lauijli.s niui li'aps 

l)<)wa li»c gniy iiiouiitaiii's niirtjed side; — 
The stem rent enigs and tall dark pine3 
AVatelj that young pilgrim lla.shing by, 
While elose alxne thcni fnnrns or shines 
Tlie hlaek torn cloud, or deep blue sky. 

Soon gathering strcngtij it swiftlv takes 

Thniugh Bartlett's vales its tuneful way, 
Or hides in Conway's fragniiit hnikcs, 

Retreating from the glare of day ; — 
Now, full of vipirous life, it springs 

Fnini the stn»ng mountain's eireling arms. 
And roams, in wide and lueid rings. 

Among green Frvcburg^'s woods and farms. 

Here with low voice it comes and calls 

For tribute fmm some hennit lake, 
And here it wddly foams and falls, 

Ridding the forc^st eehf>cs wake ; — 
Now sweeping on it runs its niee 

Ry m(»und and mill in playful glee ; — 
Now welcomes, with its pure embrace, 

The vestal waves of Ossipee. 


I At last, with loud and solemn roar, 
I Spurning each rocky ledge and bar. 
It sinks where, on the sounding- sliore, 

The broad Atlantic heaves alar; — 
There, on old ocean's faithful breast, 
! Its wealth of waves it proudly flings, 
And there its weary waters rest, 

Clear as they left their crystal springs. 

Sweet stream ! it were a fate divine. 

Till this world's toils and tasks were done, 
To go, like those bright floods of thine, 

Refreshing all, enslaved by none, — 
To pass through scenes of calm and strife, 

Singing, like thee, witli holy mirth, 
And close in peace a varied life, 

Unsullied by one stain of earth. 

James Gi/borne Lyons. 


WHO stands on that cliff, like a figure of stone, 
Unmoving and tall in the light of the sky, 
Where the spray of the cataract sparkles on high. 
Lonely and sternly, save Mogg Megone ? 
Close to the verge of the rock is lie. 

While beneath him the Saco its work is doing. 
Hurrying down to its grave, the sea. 

And slow througli the rock its pathway hewing ! 
Tar down, through the mist of the falling river. 

>A« <>, lllE lUVKK. 227 

"Which risos up like an incense ever, 
Tlie .splinten-d points of tlie cnii^s are seen, 
With water howlinj? and vexed between, 
Wliile tlie sc(K)pini; whirl of the \y»A beneath 
Seems ail oix-'U thn)at, with its gnmite teeth ! 

Jo/ia Gnr.i/r.ff U'/iiltn-r. 


r>rsil on, l)olil stream! thou sendest up 
V lirave notis to all the woods around, 
\Vlien morninij beams arc ^'athering last, 

And hushed is every human sound ; 
I st;md beneath the sombrc hill, 
The stars arc dim o'er fount and rill, 
And still 1 hear thy waters play 
1 n welcome music, far away ; 
Ihish on, bold stream ! I love the roar 
Thou sendest up from rock and shore. 

'Tis night in heaven, — Ihc rusllini^ leaves 

Are whispering of the coming storm, 
And, thundering down the river's bed, 
I see thy lengthened, darkling form ; 
No voices from the vales are heard, 
The winds are low, each little bird 
Hath sought its quiet, rocking nest, 
Folded its wings, and gone to rest : 
And still I hear thy waters play 
In welcome music, tar away. 


Oh! cai'lli liatli many a gallant show, 

Of towering peak and glacier height. 
But ne'er, beneath the glorious moon. 
Hath nature framed a lovelier sight 
Than thy fair tide with diajnonds fraught, 
When every drop with liglit is caught, 
And, o'er the bridge, the village girls 
Reflect below their waving curls. 
While merrily thy waters play 
In welcome music, far away ' 

James Thomas Yields. 


FROM the heart of Waumbek Methna, from the lake 
that never fails. 
Falls the Saco in the green lap of Conway's intervales ; 
There, in wild and virgin freshness, its waters foam and 

As when Darby Field first saw them, two hundred years 

But, vexed in all its seaward course with bridges, dams, 

and mills. 
How changed is Saco's stream, how lost its freedom 

of the hills, 
Since travelled Jocelyn, factor Vines, and stately Cliam- 

Heard on its banks the gray wolf's howl, the trumpet 

of the loon ! 



With smoking nxlo hot with speed, with steeds of fire 

and steam, 
Wide-waked To-day leaves Yestenlay Ijeh.iiid him like 

a drram. 
Still, from the hurrying train of Life, fly Ivu'kwaid far 

and fast 
The milcstoucs of the fathers, the landmarks of tlie past. 

But human liearts remain nnchan^red : the sorrow and 

the sin, 
The loves and li..r>rs mul fcai-s of old. arc to our own 

akin ; 
And if, in (ales mir laiiicrs told, ihe ^•)llL'^ wur nidthers 

Tradition wears a snowy beard. U( nuance is always 


• • • 

John Green leaf Whiltier. 

Salem, Mass. 


DELUSIONS of the days that once have been, 
^Vitehcraft. and wonders of the world unseen. 
Phantoms of air, and necromantie arts 
That crushed the weak and awed the stoutest hearts. 
These are our theme to-niudit ; and vaguely hero, 
Tlirough the dim mists that crowd the atiiiosplurc. 


"Wc draw the outlines ol" weird iigures cast 
In shadow on the backt,a-ound of the Past. 

Who would believe that iu the quiet town 
01" Salem, and amid the woods that crown 
The ueii^hboriug hillsides, aud the sunny farms 
That fold it safe in their paternal arms, — 
Who would believe that in those peaceful streets, 
Where the great elms shut out the suunner heats. 
Where quiet reigns, and breathes through brain and 

The bc'uediction of unbroken rest, — 
Who would believe such deeds could find a place 
As these whose tragic history we retrace ? 

'T was but a village then : the goodman ploughed 
His ample acres under sun or cloud; 
The goodwife at her doorstep sat and spun, 
And gossiped with her neighbors in the sun; 
The only men of dignity and state 
Were then the ^linister and the Magistrate, 
Who ruled their little realm with iron rod. 
Less in the love than in the fear of God; 
And who believed devoutly in tlie Powers 
Of Darkness, working in this world of ours, 
In spells of AVitehcraft, incantations dread, 
And shronded apparitions of the dead. 

Upon this simple folk "with fire and flame," 
Saith the old Chronicle, "the Devil came; 
Scattering his firebrands and his poisonous darts, 
To set on fire of Hell all tongues and hearts ! 
And 'tis no wonder; for, with all his host, 
There most lie rages where he hateth most. 

SALEM. 231 

And is most hided ; so on us ho brinies 

All tlu'se stupendous and portentous things!" 

Something of this our scene t*)-night will show; 
And ye who listen to the Tale of Woe, 
Be not too swift in cubluig the liist stone, 
Nor think New England bears the guilt alone. 
This sudden burst of wiekedness and crime 
Was but the conunon madness of the time, 
When in all lands, that lie within the sound 
Uf Sabbath bells, a Witch was burned or drowned. 

Ilenii/ Wadsicoith Luuyfellow. 


SWIFT lly the years. Too swift, alas ! 
, A full half-century has flown, 
Since, through these gardens fair and })astures lone 

And down the busy street, 
Or 'neath the elms whose shadows soft are thrown 

Upon the common's trampled grass, 
Pattered my childish feet. 
Gone are the happy games we played as boys ! 
Gone the glad shouts, the free and careless joys. 
The fights, the feuds, tiie friendships that we had. 
And all the trivial things that had the power. 
When Youth was in its early flower. 

To make us sad or glad ! 
Gone the familiar faces that we knew, 
Silent the voices that once thrilled us through, 

And ghosts are everywhere ! 


Tliey peer from every window-pane, 
From every alley, street, and lane 

They whisper on the air. 
They haunt the meadows green and wide, 
The garden-walk, the river-side. 
The beating mill adust with meal, 
The rope-walk with its whirring wheel. 
The elm grove on the sunny ridge, 
The rattling draw, the echoing bridge ; 
The lake on which we used to float 
What time the blue jay screamed his note. 
The voiceful pines that ceaselessly 
Breathed back their answer to the sea, 
The school-house, where we learned to spell, 
The church, the solemn-sounding bell, — • 

All, all, are full of them. 
Where'er we turn, howe'er we go, 

Ever we hear their voices dim 

That sing to us as in a dream 

The song of "Long ago." 

Ah me, how many an autumn day 
We watched with palpitating breast 

Some stately ship, from India or Cathay, 
Laden with spicy odors from the East, 

Come sailing up the bay ! 
Unto our youthful hearts elate 
What wealth beside their real freight 
Of rich material things they bore ! 
Ours were Arabian cargoes, fair, 
Mysterious, exquisite, and rare; 

SAiiM. :?33 

From far romantic lauds built out of air 
On au iilcal shore 

Sent l)Y Aladtlin, CamaralAiman, 

Moi^iana, or lindoura, or the Klian. 
Tn isjires of Siudhad, vajjur aud wondrous thiujT' 
!'.('. aJ the roach of auf'ht hut Youth's imai'iuiu<:s. 

How oft half-fcarfully wc prowled 

\i ,1 '' '' ! houses, quaint aud old, 

W 1 and terrible, 

Of wiieh and phost that used in them to dwell, 

Around the twili^jht fire were told; 
While huddled elo!w with anxious ear 

Wc lieartl them, quiverinc: with fear, 
Aud. if the davlii;ht half o'ercaiue the spell, 

T was with a linjrerini; dnad 
Wc oped the d<H>r and touehcl t^ -• ^t'li'Inr 1i< H 

In the dark shop that led, 
For »-«Mii. had fallen under time s dL-LjraCL', 

To iiK.iiur uses and a lower place. 
But as we heard it rin?, our hearts' quick pants 

Almost were audible; 
For with its sound it seemed to rouse the dead, 
And wake some chost from out the dusky haunts 

Wl.nv faint tl.r dayli-ht fell. 

I jHiii im- MiiiiiN \Miarves how oft 
Within some dim secluded loft 
We j)layed. aud dreauu-d tlic livelong day, 
\iid all the world was ours in play; 

234 POEMS or places. 

We cared not, let it slip aM^ay, 
And let the sandy hour-glass run. 
Time is so long, and life so long 
When it has just begun. 

MiUiam Wetmore Story. 

Salmon, the River, N, H. 


'rp IS a sweet stream, — and so, 't is true, are all 
J- That, undisturbed, save by the harmless brawl 
Of mimic rapid or slight waterfall. 

Pursue their way 
By mossy bank, and darkly waving wood. 
By rock, that since the deluge fixed has stood. 
Showing to sun and moon their crisping flood 

By night and day. 

But yet there 's something in its humble rank. 
Something in its pure wave and sloping bank, 
Where the deer sported, and the young fawn drank 

With unscared look ; 
There 's much in its wild history, that teems 
With all that 's superstitious, — and that seems 
To match our fancy and eke out our dreams. 

In that small brook. 

Havoc has been upon its peaceful plain. 

And blood has dropped there, Hke the drops of rain; 

The corn grows o'er the still graves of the slain, — 


And UKinv a ([uivcr, 
Filled from the reeds thai grow on yonder iiill, 
Has six>nt itself in carnage. Now 'tis still, 
And whistling plonghboys oft their runlets till 

From Sidmon Hivcr. 

Here, say old men, the Indian magi made 
Their ^jwlls by mooidight; or beneath the shade 
That shn)uds sequestered njek. or darkciiiiiir L'ladc. 

Or tiuigled dell. 
Here Philip came, and Mi.uitoiiiiMo, 
And asked about their fortunes hmg ago. 
As Saul to Endor, that her witch might show 

Old Siinmcl. 

And here the black fox roved, that howled and shonk 
His thick tail to the hunters, by the brook 
Where they pursued their game, and him mistook 

For earthly fox ; 
Thinking to shoot him like a shaggy bear. 
And his soft peltry, stripi>cd and dressnl f<» \v<.ir 
Or lay a trap, and from his quiet lair 

Tninsfer him to a box 

Such are the tales they tell. 'T is hard to rliynie 

About a little and unnoticed stream, 

That few have heard of, — but it is a theme 

I chance to love ; 
.\nd one day I may tunc my rye-straw reed, 
.Vnd whistle to the note of many a deed 
Done on this river, — which, if there be need, 

I '11 try to prove. 

John Gardner Calkins Brainard. 


Saybrook, Conn, 


WIDE as tlie sky Time spreads his hand, 
And blindly over us there blows 
A swarm of years that fill the land, 
Then fade, and are as fallen snows. 

Beliold, the flakes rash thick and fast; 

Or are they years that come between, 
Wlieu, peering back into the past, 

I search the legendary scene ? 

Nay; marshalled down the open coast, 
Tearless of that low rampart's frown. 

The winter's white-winged, footless host 
Beleaguers ancient Saybrook town. 

And when the settlers wake, they stare 
On woods half-buried, white and green, 

A smothered world, an empty air : 

Never had such deep drifts been seen ! 

But " Snow lies light upon my heart ! 

An thou," said merry Jonathan Rudd, 
"Wilt wed me, winter shall depart, 

And love like spring for us shall bud." 

"Nay, how," said Mary, "may that be? 
Nor minister nor majnstrate 

SAYliKOOK. 237 

Is here, to join us solcnmly; 

Aud snow-banks bar us, every gate." 

" Winthrop at Pcquot Harbor lies," 

lie lau,£rl»cd. And with the nioiTOw's snn 

He fared tlie deputy's dark eyes: 

"How soon, sir, may the rite be done?" 

"At Saybrook? There tlie power's n>t mine," 
Said lie. " But at the brook we "11 meet, 

That ripples down the boundary line ; 

There you nuiy wed, and Heaven shall see 't." 

Forth went, next day, tlie bridal train 
Tlirouijh vistas dreamy with <;i-ay light. 

The wait ins: woods, the open ])lain, 
Arrayed in consecrated white. 

Received and ushered them along; 

The very beasts l)cfore them fled. 
Charmed by the spell of inward song 

Tliese lovers' hearts around them spread. 

Four men with netted foot-gear shod 
Bore the maid's earrying-ehair aloft ; 

She swayed above, as roses nod 

On the lithe stem their bloom-weight soft. 

At last beside tlie brook they stood, 

"With '\^'inthrop and his followers; 
Tlic maid in flake-embroidered hood, 

Tlie magistrate well cloaked in furs, 


Tlkat, parting, showed a glimpse beneath 

Of ample, throat-encircling ruff 
As Avhite as some wind-gathered wreath 

Of snow quilled into plait and puff. 

A few grave words, a question asked. 
Eyelids that with the answer fell 

Like falling petals, — form that tasked 

Brief time; — yet all was wrought, and well! 

Then "Brooklet," Winthrop smiled and said, 
"Trost's finger on thy lip makes dumb 

The voice wherewith thou shouldst have sped 
These lovers on their way ; but, come, 

*' Henceforth forever be thou known 
By name of her here made a bride ; 

So shall thy slender music's moan 
Sweeter into the ocean glide ! " 

Then laughed they all, and sudden beams 
Of sunshine quivered through the sky. 

Below the ice the unheard stream's 
Clear heart tlirilled on in ecstasy ; 

And lo, a visionary blush 

Stole w^armly o'er the voiceless wild. 
And in her rapt and wintry hush 

The lonely face of Nature smiled. 

Ah, Time, Avliat wilt thou? Vanished quite 

Is all that tender vision now; 
And like lost snow-flakes in the night. 

Mute He the lovers as their vow. 

SdTlATE. ^"^iJ 

And O thou little, carck'bs bn)ok, 

Hast thou thy tciuler trust forgot? 
Her modest memory forsook, 

Whose uame, kuown once, thou uttcrcst uot ? 

Spring wakes the rill's blithe mhistrelsy ; 

In willow bough or alder bush 
Birds sing, with gokleu filigree 

Of i)ebbles 'ucath the flood's clear gush; 

But uoue can tell us of that name 

More than the " Mary." Meu still say 

" Bride Bn>ok " in honor of her fame -. 
But all the rest has i)asscd away. 

Georye r arsons Lat/irop. 

Scituate, Mass, 


HOW dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, 
When fond recollection presents them to view! 
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wildwood, 

And every loved spot which my infancy knew; — 
Tbe wide-spreading pond, and the mill which stood by it, 

The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell; 
The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it. 

And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well. 
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound Ijucket, 
Tlie moss-covered bucket which hmig iu the well. 


That moss-covcrcd vessel I liail as a treasure ; 

Tor often, at noon, when returned from the field, 
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, 

The purest and sweetest tliat nature ean yield. 
How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing ! 

And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell; 
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, 

And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well ; 
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket. 
The moss-covered bucket, arose from the well. 

How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, 

As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips ! 
Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it. 

Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips. 
And now, far removed from the loved situation. 

The tear of regret will intrusively swell, 
As fancy reverts to my father's plantation. 

And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well ; 
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket. 
The moss-covered bucket which hangs in the well. 

Samuel Woodicorth. 


IT was off the cliffs of Scituate, 
In old ]Massaehi»etts Bay, ^l (ju^A^^^^ 

"We took a stiff northeaster. 

About the break of day ; 
Lord ! how it howled and whistled 

Throiii'h the ratlines and the shrouds. 


As the icy snow ilaslu'd pelting 

Throngh tlic scud of lowering clouds! 

Outspoke then our bold captain, — 

" She fairly drifts astern ; 
Against this gale no Boston 

Can the good barque make, this turn; 
To beach her were but madness, 

AVhere \\u' wild surf runs so IiIl-'Ii. — 
Under our lee lies Scit^iitte, > 

And tiicrc we can but try." 

Then " Ilanl uj) I " cried the captain, — 

liike a l)ird she bore away. 
The blast just struck her fjuarter, 

And she flew across the bay ; 
Before us broke the dreaded bar, 

And by the helmsman stood 
Our captain, as the brave barque plunged 

Into tlie foam-tossed flood. 

One plunge ! the sti-ong wave lifted her, — 

Aghast stood all the crew ! 
Again, — she rose upon the surge, — 

And it brought her safely through. 
Now, God bless Scituate Harbor, 

And be blessed forevcrmore, 
Who saved us from the sea's cold clasp, 

By that wild, treacherous shore. 

George Luut. 


Seaconnet Point, li. L 


WE sat together, you and I, 
And watched the daylight's dying bloom, 
And saw the great white ships go by. 

Like phantoms through the gathering gloom. 

Like phantom lights the lonely stars 

Looked through the sea-fog's ghastly veil, 

Beyond the headland's rocky bars 
We heard the stormy surges wail. 

We sat together, hand in hand, 

Upon the lonely, sea-girt wall. 
And watched, along the glimmering strand. 

The wild, white breakers plunge and fall. 

You spoke of pleasures past away. 

Of hopes that left the heart forlorn, 
Of life's unrest and love's decay. 

And lonely sorrows proudly borne. 

The sea's pliantasmal sceneries 

Commingled with your mournful theme ; J 

The splendors of your starry eyes " 

Were drowned in memory's deepening dream. 

Darker and lonelier grew the night 9 

Along the horizon's dreary verge, * 


Aud lonelier through the lessening light 
Saug the wild sca-wiud's waiUug dirge. 

AVhen, kindling through the gatlicriiig gloom, 
Bevond West-Island's beetling l)ro\v, 

Where bnakers dash, and surges boom, 
We saw I'oint Judith's lires aglow. 

Piercing night's solemn mystery, 
The lighthouse reared its lonely form. 

Serene above the weltering sea 

And guardant through the gathering storm. 

So, o'er the sea of life's unrest. 

Through griefs wild storm, and sorrow's gloom. 
Faith's heaveidy phams iit the breast 

Lights up the dark Mith deathless bloom. 

The sea-lx)ni sadness of the hour 

Melted beneatli its holy siwll ; 
Faith blossomed into perfect llowcr, 

And our hciirts whisi^ered, "All is well." 

Sarah Helen irhitman. 


RUL .\D aud red in a gtjldcn haze 
Had the sun gone up from his eastern bed 
For days and days, and as round and red 
The sun had gone down for days aud days. 

The windless hills were bathed in the gold 
Of their own autumnal atmosphere, — 


The tliousaiid hues of the parting year 
111 their banners of glory mixed, fold on fold. 

Hound and red in the midnight sky 

The lone moon rode with never a star, — 
The bronzed right wheel of her noiseless car 

With a broad tire girdling her throne on high. 

Then caine the storm with its signal drum, 
All night we heard on the eastern shore 
The steady booming and muffled roar 

Of the great waves' tramp ere the winds had come ! 

They came with the morning ! the lurid glow 
Of the sunrise into black ashes 1)urned ; 
The torn clouds whirled, overturned and turned, 

Wrung till they streamed with a torrent's flow. 

With the measured march of a mighty host 
The grouiul -swell came, with wave upon wave, 
On the red Saugonnet rocks they dravc. 

And scattered their foam over leagues of coast. 

Out of the Infinite, up from the smoke 

Of the watery Gehenna the wild waves rose. 
Lashed into wrath by invisible foes. 

On the crags of the headland their fury broke. 

Spectral and dim over sunk Cuttywow 

The white spray hung, but ye heard no shock. 
For the liquid thunder on red Wall Rock 

Crushed out all sound with its deafening blow. 


Fnim tlic granite jaws of the Clumi). llio foam 
Of a maniac wrath was drifted, wliite, 
Snowed on the blast, witli tlie snowy flight 

Of the scn'aming gulls driven out from home. 

In the swirl of the Hopper the waves wore ground 
To imi>Jil|>;d)le dust; the Kidgc Kock roared 
To the enish of a new Niagani ])()ured 

Right up the cnigs with a slippery l)ound ! 

Over Brenton's Reef where the we>t hung l)lack. 
O'er the cloiidy Ivir of the Cormonuit Roeks, 
The white seas hurried in huddling tloeks 

With the wolf-winds howling along their traek. 

They came and went in a wavering mist, 

The phantoms that hung on the skirts of the blast ; 
"While the nearer ClilT his defiance cast; 

Maddening the seas with his granite fist. 

Far inland the moan of the tempest told 

What war was waged on the crumbling crags, 
How the charging billows were torn on jags 
Of the Island Cliff as they backward rolled. 
• ♦ * 

George S. Burleigh. 


Sebago, the Lake, He, 



A ROUND Scbago's lonely lake 
t\. There lingers not a breeze to break 
The niirror which its waters make. 

The solemn pines along its shore, 

The firs which hang its gray rocks o'er, 

Are painted on its glassy floor. 

The sun looks o'er, with hazy eye, 
The snowy mountain-tops which lie 
Piled coldly up against the sky. 

Dazzling and white ! save where the bleak, 
Wild winds have bared some splintering peak. 
Or snow-slide left its dusky streak. 

Yet green are Saco's banks below, 
And belts of spruce and cedar show. 
Dark fringing round those cones of snow. 

The earth hath felt the breath of spring, 
Though yet on her deliverer's wing 
The lingering frosts of winter cling. 

Eresh grasses fringe the meadow-brooksj 
And mildly from its sunny nooks 
The blue eye of the violet looks. 

■^EBA(i(), TIN LAKK. -"^7 

A; . ^ from thi' sprin'rini: prrass, 

III. -\\.<t birt'li and the si.s^afnis, 
Upou the scarcc-fclt breezes pass. 

Her tokens of renewing care 
Hath Nature seattered evenwhcre, 
In bud and llower, and wanner air. 

But in their hour of bitterness, 
What reck the brtjken Sokokis, 
Beside their shiughtered chief, of tliis? 

The turfs red stain is yet undried, — 
Scarce have the deatli-shot cclioes died 
Along Sebagtj's wcMuled side : 

And silent now tlie lumters stand, 
Grouped darkly, where a swell of land 
Slopes upward from the lake's white sand. 

Fire find the axe have swept it bare, 
Save one lone beecli, unclosing there 
lis light leaves in the vernal air. 

With grave, cold looks, all sternly mute, 
They break the damp turf at its foot. 
And bare its coiled and twisted root. 

Tliey heave the stubborn trunk aside. 
The firm roots from the earth divide, — 
The rent beneath yawns dark and wide. 

And there the fallen chief is laid, 
In tasselled garbs of skins arrayed. 
And girded with his wampum-braid. 


T!i3 silver cross he loved is pressed 
Beneath the heavy arms, whieh rest- 
Upon his scarred and naked breast. 

'T is done : the roots are backward sent, 
The beechen-tree stands np nubent, — 
The Indian's fitting monument ! 
* * * 

John Greenleaf Whittle 

Shoal of George's, Mass. 


WE had sailed out a Letter of Marque, 
Tourteen guns and forty men ; 
And a costly freight our gallant barcpie 

"Was bearing home again. 
We bad ranged the seas the Avliole summer-tide, 

Crossed the main, and returned once more ; 
Our sails were spread, and from tlie mast-head 
The lookout saw the distant shore. 

" A sail ! a sail on the weather bow ! 
Hand over hand, ten knots an hour ! " 

" Now God defend it ever should end 

That vrc should fall in the foeman's power ! " 

'T was an English frigate came bearing down, 
Bearing down before the gale, 

SHOAL OF George's. 249 

Ridiii? the waves that sent their spray 
Da^liiiig madly o'er mast and sail. 

Every stitcli of our eanvas set, 

Like a fri^i^htened bird our good barque flew; 
The wild waves lashed and the foam crests dashed, 

As we threaded the billows through. 
The night came down on the waters wide, — 

" By Heaven's helj) we '11 see home once more," 
Our eaj)tain eried, "for nor-nor-west 

Lies Cape Cod Light, and the good old shore." 

A sudden flash, and a sullen roar 

Booming over tlie stormy sea. 
Showed the frigate elose on our track, — 

How could we ]i()|)e her grasp to flee ? 
Our angry gunner the stern-ehaser fired ; 

I hardly think they heard the sound. 
The billows so wildly roared and raged. 

As we forward })lunged with furious bound. 

"All our prizes safely in. 

Shall we fall a prize to-night? 
The Shoal of George's lies sou-south-east. 

Bearing away from Cape Cod Light." 
Our captain's face grew dark and stem. 

Deadly white his closed lips were. 
The men looked in each other's eyes, — 

Not a look that spoke of fear. 
" Hard up ! " 

Hard up the helm was jammed. 

The wary steersman spoke no word. 


Ill the roar of the breakers on cither side 

Murmurs of wonder died unheard. 
Loud and clear rose the captain*s voice, — 

A bronzed old sea-dog, calm and cool, 
He had been in sea-fights oft. 

Trained eye and liand in danger's school. 
''Heave the lead ! " 

The lead was hove; 

Sharj) and short the quick reply ; 
Steady rose the captain's voice, 

Dark fire glowed his swarthy eye. 
Right on the Shoal of George's steered. 

Urged with wild, impetuous force, 
Lost, if on either side we veered 

But a hand's breadth from our course. 
On and on our good barque drove, 

Leaping like mad from wave to wave, 
Hissing and roaring 'round her bow. 

Hounding her on to a yawning grave. 

God ! 't was a desperate game we played ! 

White as the combing wave grew each cheek; 
Our hearts in that moment dumbly prayed, 

For never a word might our blenched lips speak. 
On and on the frigate drove, 

Right in our track, close bearing down; 
Our captain's face was still and stem. 

Every muscle too rigid to frown. 

On and on the frigate drove. 

Swooping down in her glorious pride ; 


Lonl of horwcn! wliat a shrink was that 

Kiiigiiij; over the watrrs w'ldv I 
Striking swift on the sunkrn ror-ks, 

D<»wn went the friiipitc beneath the wavr : 
All her erew in an instant snnk, 

Gulfed in the closing grave! 

We were alone on the rolling sea; 

Man looked to man with a silent pain ; 
Stendy our euptain turned away ; 

Our helmsman bore on our course again. 
Into the harbor we safely sailed 

Wheu the n*d mom glowed o'er the l)ay 
The sinking ship, and the wild dcath-cn-, 

Wc shall see and hear, to our dying day. 

Caroline Frances Ornf. 

Sonr/o, the liiror, Me. 



NOWllEUK sueli a devious stream, 
Save in fancy or in dream, 
Winding slow through busli ant] linikL' 
Links together lake and lake. 

Walled with woods or sandy shelf, 
Ever doubling on itself' • 


riows flic stream, so still and slow 
That it hardly seems to flow. 

Never errant knight of old, 
Lost in woodland or on wold. 
Such a winding path pursued 
ThroTigh the sylvan solitude. 

Never school-boy in his quest 
After hazel-nut or nest, 
Through the forest in and out 
Wandered loitering thus about. 

In the mirror of its tide 
Tangled thickets on each side 
Hang inverted, and between 
Floating cloud or sky serene. 

Swift or swallow on the wing 
Seems the only living thing. 
Or the loon, that laughs and flies 
Down to those reflected skies. 

Silent stream ! thy Indian name 
"Unfamiliar is to fame ; 
Tor thou bidest here alone. 
Well content to be unknown. 

But thy tranquil watci-s teach 
Wisdom deep as human s]ieech. 
Moving without haste or noise 
In unbroken equipoise. 



Though thou turncsf no busy mill, 
And art ever ealui and still, 
Even thy silence seems to say 
To the traveller on his May: — 

"Traveller, hurryini^ from the luai 
Of the city, stay thy feet ! 
Rest awhile, nor hunger waste 
Life with ine(jnsiderate haste ! 

"Be not like a stream tliat brawls 
Loud with sliallow waterfalls, 
But in quiet self-control 
Link together soul and soul." 

llenry Wadsworth Longfelloxc. 

Sprimjjwkl, Mass. 


THIS is the arsenal. From floor to ceiling, 
Like a huue organ, rise the bumislicd arms ; 
But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing 
Startles the villages with strange alarms. 

Ah ! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary. 

\(\\e\\ the death-angel touches those swift keys! 
What loud lament and dismal Miserere 

AVill mingle with their awful symphonies ! 


I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus, 
The cries of agony, the endless groan, 

"Which, through the ages that have gone before us, 
In long reverberations reach our own. 

On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer. 
Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman's song, 

And loud, amid the universal clamor. 

O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong. 

1 hear the Florentine, who from his palace 
"Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din. 

And Aztec priests upon their teocallis 

Beat the wild war-drums made of serpent's skin; 

The tumult of each sacked and burning village ; 

The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns ; 
The soldiers' revels in the midst of pillage ; 

The wail of famine in beleaguered towns ; 

The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder, 
The rattling musketry, the clashing blade ; 

And ever and anon, in tones of thunder, 
The dia})ason of the cannonade. 

Is it, man, with such discordant noises. 
With such accursed instruments as these, 

Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voices. 
And jarrest the celestial harmonies ? 

"Were half the power, that fills the world with terror, 
Were half the wealth, bestowed on camps and courts. 


(uvrii to ic(U'cm ila- liiiiiKm iiiiiul from error, 
There were uo ueed of arsenals or forts ; 

The warrior's name would be a name abhorred ! 

And every nation that should lift atrain 
Its hand against a brother, on its forehead 

AVouUl wear forevermorc the curse of Cam ! 

Down the dark future, throuj;!! long generations, 
The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease ; 

And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, 
I hear ouce more the voice of Christ say, " Peace ! " 

Peace! and uo longer from its brazen ])ortals 

The bhiit of AVar's great organ shakes the skies ! 

But beautiful as songs of the immortals, 
The holy melodies of love arise. 

llenrii WadsicortJi LongfelloK. 

Siidburii, Mass, 


0"XE autumn night, in Sudburv town, 
Across the meadows bare mid l)rown, 
The windows of the wayside inn 
Gleamed red with firelight Ihrougli the leaves 
Of woodbine, hanging from the caves 
Their crimson curtains rent and thin. 


As ancient is this hostelry 

As any in the land may be. 

Built in the old Colonial day, 

When men lived in a grander way. 

With ampler hospitality; 

A kind of old IlobgobUn Hall, 

Now somewhat fallen to decay, 

Witii weather-stains upon the wall. 

And stairways worn, and crazy doors, 

And creaking- and uneven floors, 

And chimneys huge and tiled and tall. 

A region of repose it seems, 

A place of slumber and of dreams. 

Remote among the wooded hills ! 

For there no noisy rail way~ speeds, 

Its torch-race scattering smoke and gleeds ; 

But noon and night, the panting teams 

Stop under the great oaks, tliat throw 

Tangles of light and shade below. 

On roofs and doors and Avindow-sills ; 

Across the road the barns display 

Their lines of stalls, their mows of hay; 

Through the wide doors the breezes blow; 

The wattled cocks strut to and fro. 

And, half effaced by rain and shine, 

The lied Horse prances on the sign. 

Round this old-fashioned, quaint abode 
Deep silence reigned, save when a gust 
Went rushing down tlie county road. 
And skeletons of leaves, and dust. 


A moment qmckeiitnl l)y its liiratli, 
Shuddprcd and danced their danee of dealli, 
And througli tlie ancient oaks o'erlicad 
Mysterious voices moaned and tied. 

I It'll)!/ ll'adsicorih Lour/fellow. 

Wachuseffy f/tr Jfofoi/ain, Jfass. 


I WOULD I were a painter, for the sake 
Of a sweet picture, and of her who led, 
A fitting guide, witli reverential tread, 
Into that mountain mystery. First a lake 
Tinted with sunset; next the wavy lines 

Of far receding hills ; and yet more fiir 
Monadnoek lifting from his night of pines 
Ilis n)sy forehead to the evening star. 
Beside us, purple-zoned, "Waeliusett laid 
His head against the West, whose warm light made 

His aureole ; and o'er him, sharp and clear, 
Like a shaft of lightning in mid-launching stayed. 
A single level cloud-line, shone upon 
By the fierce glances of the sunken sun, 

^fenaced the darkness with its golden spear ! 

So twilight deepened round us. Still and black 
The great woods climbed the mountain at our back ; 
And on their skirts, where yet the lingering day 
On the shorn greenness of the clearing lay, 


Tlie brown old farm-house like a bird's-iicst liuiig. 
With home-life sounds the desert air was stirred: 
The bleat of sheep along the hill we heard, 
The bucket plashing in the cool, sweet v.'ell, 
The pasture-bars that clattered as they fell; 
Dogs barked, fowls fluttered, cattle lowed ; the gate 
Of the barnyard creaked beneath the merry weight 

Of sun-brown children, listening, while they swung, 
The welcome sound of supper-call to hear; 
And down the shadowy lane, in tinklings clear, 

The pastoral curfew of the cow-bell rung. 
Thus soothed and pleased, our backward path we took, 

Praising the farmer's home. He only spake, 

Looking into the sunset o'er the lake, 

Like one to whom the far-off is most near: 
"Yes, most folks tliink it has a pleasant look; 

I love it for my good old motlier's sake. 

Who lived and died here in the peace of God ! " 

The lesson of his words we pondered o'er, 
As silently we turned the eastern flank 
Of the mountain, where its shadow deepest sank. 
Doubling the night along our rugged road : 
We felt that man was more than his abode, — 

The inward life than Nature's raiment more ; 
And the warm sky, the sundown-tinted hill, 

The forest and the lake, seemed dwarfed and dim 
Before the saintly soul, whose human will 
Meekly in the Eternal footsteps trod, 
Making her homely toil and household ways 
An earthly echo of the song of praise 

Swelling from angel lips and harps of seraphim, 

John Greenleaf IFhittier. 



TTTITII froutier strength ye stand your ^omid, 
'* With gniud content ye circle round. 
Tumultuous silence for all sound, 
Yc distant nursery of rills, 
Monadnock, and the Teterboro' hills ; 
Like some va^t tleet, 
Saihng through niin and sleety 
Thi-ough winter's cold and summer's heat; 
Still holding on, ui»n your Ijigii emprise. 
Until ye lind a shoiv amid the skies; 
Kot skulking close to land, 
With Ciirgo contralxind, 
For they wiio sent a venture out by yc 
Have set the sun to see 
Their honesty. 
Ships of line, each one, 
Ye to the westward run. 
Always before the gale. 
Under a press of sail, 
With a weight of metal all untold. 
I seem to feel ye, in my firm seat here. 
Immeasurable dejith of hold, 
Aud breadth of beam, and length of ruumng gear. 

But special I i-cmcmber thee, 
W^achusett, who hke me 
Staudcst alone without society. 


Thy far blue eye, 

A remnant of tlic sky, 

Seen throui^h tlie clearing or tlie gorge, 

Or from the windows of the forge. 

Doth leaven all it passes by. 

Nothing is true. 

But stands 'tween me and you. 

Thou western pioneer, 

Who know'st not shame nor fear, 

By venturous spirit driven. 

Under the eaves of heaven. 

And canst expand thee there. 

And brcatlie enough of air! 

Upholding heaven, holding down earth, 

Thy pastime from thy birth, 

Not steadied by the one, nor leaning on the other ; 

May I approve myself thy worthy brother! 

Henry David Thoreau. 

Waverljjj Mass. 


HUSTLED with broad sunlight lies the hill, 
And, minuting the long day's loss, 
The cedar's shadow, slow and still, 
Creeps o'er its dial of gray moss. 

Warm noon brims full the valley's cup. 
The aspen's leaves are scarce astir; 


Only the littlr mill sciuls \ip 
Its busy, uever-cciisiug burr. 

Climbing tlic loose-piled wall that hems 
The road along the mill-pond's brink, 
From 'neath the arching barberry-stems. 
My footstep seaiTs the shy chewiuk. 

Beneath a Ijony buttonwood 
The mill's red door lets forth the din; 
The whitened miller, dust-imbued, 
riits past the square of dark wilhiu. 

No mountain tonriit's strength is here; 
Sweet leaver, eliild of forest still. 
Heaps its small j)itcher to the ear. 
And gently waits the miller's will. 

Swift slips Undine along the race 
Unheard, and then, with Hashing bound, 
Floods the dull wheel with light and grace. 
And, laughing, hunts the loath drudge round. 

The miller dreams not at what cost 
The quivering millstones hum and whirl. 
Nor how for every turn are tost 
Armfuls of diamond and of pearl. 

But Summer cleared my happier eyes 
With drops of some celestial juice. 
To see how Beauty underlies 
Foreverraore each form of Use. 


Aud more : metliouglit I saw that flood, 
Which, now so dull and darkling steals, 
Thick, here aud there, with human blood, 
To turn the world's laborious wheels. 

No more than doth the miller there. 
Shut in our several cells, do we 
Know with what waste of beauty rare 
Moves every day's machinery. 

Surely the wiser time shall come 
Wkeii this fine overplus of might. 
No longer sullen, slow, and dumb. 
Shall leap to music aud to light. 

In that new childhood of the Earth 

Life of itself shall dance and play. 

Fresh blood in Time's shrunk veins make mirth, 

And labor meet delight half-way. 

Jatnes Russell Lowell. 

White Mountains, N, H. 


WE had been wandering for many days 
Through the rough northern country. We had 
The sunset, with its bars of purple cloud. 
Like a new heaven, shine upward from the lake 
Of Winnipiseogee ; and had felt 

wuirt MuLNTAiNs. 2G3 

The sunrise breezes, midst the leafy isles 

Which »t«K)p their summer Wauty to the lips 

Of thr I trs. "We hail cheekeil our ^tceds, 

Silent \\ r, where the nmunlaiu wall 

Is piled i«> hraveu; and, throu;;h the narrow rift 

Of the vaj>t roeks. a^in>t whose ru^fped feet 

Beats the uuul tom'nt with }KT|)etual n»ar, 

W^ he wind 

(' ' , moan 

Of lorests and of far-olV waterfalls, 

Wr had looked upward where the summer sky, 

r.i-^. !!. d with clouds hirht-woven hy the sun, 

Si the abutting erairs 

U . . 1 of the land 

Beyond the wall of mountains. We had jMissed 

The high source of the Saeo ; and hewiUlcrcd 

In the dwarf spruee-belts of the Crystal Hills, 

Hi ! ri voice in the eloud, 

ii:-- :: : 1 : 1 i'i_ - ; jiing; and atop 

Of old Agiochook liad seen the mountains 

Piled to th« ' ' ' 1 with wood, and thick 

As meadow . sea of Casco, 

A whitr ^Irani on tlic lion/-on of the cast ; 

Fair lakes, embosomed in the woods and liills ; 

Moosehil lock's mountain range, and Kearsjirgfc 

Lifting his Titan forehead to the sun ! 

And we had rested undenieath the oaks 

Shadowing the bank, whose grassy spires are shaken 

By the |>erpetual l>eating of the falls 

Of the wild Ammouoosuc. We had t nicked 


The winding Pcmigewasset, ovcrlmng 
B}^ beeclien shadows, whitening down its rocks, 
Or lazily gliding through its intervals, 
From waving rye-fields sending up the gleam 
Of sunlit waters. We had seen the moon 
Rising behind Umbagog's eastern pines, 
Like a "great Indian camp-fire; and its beams 
At midnight spanning with a bridge of silver 
The Merrimac by Uncanoonuc's falls. 

John Greenleaf Whit tier. 


FOR weeks the cloiuls had raked the hills 
And vexed the vales with raining. 
And all the woods were sad with mist, 
And all the brooks complaining. 

At last, a sudden night-storm tore 

The mountain veils asunder, 
And swept the valley clean before 

The besom of the thunder. 

Througli Sandwich notch the west-wind sang 

Good morrow to the cotter ; 
And once again Chocorua's horn 

Of shadow pierced the Avater. 

Above his broad lake Ossipee, 

Once more the sunshine wearing. 
Stooped, tracing on that silver shield 

His grim armorial bcjiring. 

W 11 1 11. .Mm N I \I.\S, 2fi5 

Clear drawn aj^ainst tlio liard ])luc sky 

The ])caks liad wiiitrr's kocunoss ; 
And, close on autumir.s frost, tlie vales 

Had more than June's fiesli i^rceuuess. 

A^in the scxlden forest floors 

AVith i^ohlen li^'hts were elieekered, 

Onee more rcjoielnir leaves in wind 
And sunshine danced and lliekered. 

It was as if the suninier's late 

Atoning for its sadness 
Had borrowed every season's charm 

To end its days in ^'lachiess. 

I call to mind those banded vales 

Of shadow and of shining, 
Through wliieh, my hostess at my side, 

I drove in day's declining. 

"We h.ld our sideling way above 

The river's whitening shallows, 
By homesteads old, with wide-flung barns 

Swept through and through by swallows, — 

By maple orchards, belts of pine 

And larches climbing darkly 
The mountain slopes, and, over all. 

The great peaks rising st*irkly. 

You should have seen that Innij hill-range 
With gaps of brightness riven, — 


How tliroug'h each pass and hollow streamed 
The purpling lights of heaven, — 

Rivers of gold-mist flowing down 
From far celestial fountains, — 
The great sun flaming through the rifts 
Beyond the wall of mountains ! 

* * * 

John Greenleaf Whittier. 



The " Profile " is formed by separate projections of the cliff, wliich, 
viewed from a particular point, assume the marvellous appearance of a 
colossal human face. 

ALL round the lake the wet woods shake 
From drooping boughs tlieir showers of pearl; 
From floating skiff to towering cliff 
The rising vapors part and curl. 
The west-wind stirs among the firs 

High up the mountain side emerging; 
The light illumes a thousand plumes 

Througli Ijillowy banners round them surging. 


A glory smites the craggy heights : 

And in a halo of the haze, 
Flushed with faint gold, far up, behold 

That mighty face, that stony gaze ! 
In the wild sky upborne so high 

Above us perishable creatures. 


Confronting Time with tliosc subiiiuc, 
In»iMissivc, aihiniantiuc fcaturt\s. 

Thou boaked and l)ald liigh front, miscalled 

Tlie pi-olih* of a iiuman face ! 
No kin art thou, (J Titan brow, 

To puny man's ephemn-al race. 
The groaning earth to thee gave birth, — 

Thi-ocs and convulsions of tlic j)lanet; 
Lonely uprose, in gnind repose, 

Tlio^.- .l./liiv r.wt ,.(■ facial gnniite. 

lien- i"iii^. \\iiii<- \;i^i, slow ages piisscd, 

Thine eyes (if eyes be thine » In-held 
liut solitudes of crags and woods, 

AN here eagles scrcanu'd and panthers yelled. 
Before the fires of our jvdc sires 

In the first log-built cabin twinkled. 
Or nnlmen caujc for lish and game. 

That scalp Wiis scarred, that face was wrinkled. 

We may not know how hmg ago 

That ancient countenance was young; 
Thy soven*ign brow was seamed as now 

When Moses wrote and Homer sung. 
Emj)ircs and states it antedates. 

And wars, and arts, and crime, and glory; 
In that dim morn when man was born 

Thy head with centuries was hoary. 

Thou lonely one ! nor frost, nor sun, 
Nor tempest leaves on thee its trace; 


The stormy years arc but as tears 
That pass from tliy unchanging face. 

With unconcern as grand and stern, 

Those features viewed, which now survey us, 

A gi-cen world rise from seas of ice, 
And order come from mud and chaos. 

Canst thou not tell what then befell? 

\A'liat forces moved, or fast or slow ; 
How grew the hills; what heats, what chills. 

What strange, dim life, so long ago ? 
High-visaged peak, wilt thou not speak? 

One word, for all our learned wrangle ! 
What earthquakes shaped, what glaciers scraped, 

Tliat nose, and gave the chin its angle ? 

Our pygmy thought to thee is naught. 

Our petty questionings are vain; 
In its great trance thy countenance 

Knows not compassion nor disdain. 
With far-off hum we go and come, 
' Tlie gay, the grave, the busy-idle ; 
And all things done to thee are one. 

Alike the burial and the bridal. 

Thy permanence, long ages hence. 
Will mock the pride of mortals still. 

Heturning springs, with songs and wings 
And fragrance, shall these valleys fill; 

The free winds blow, fall rain or snow, 
The mountains brim their crystal beakers- 


Still conic and pro, still thl) and flow, 
The summer tides of plciusui-c-scckers : 

Tlic dawns shall gild the peaks whvrc ])nild 

Tlie eajjjles, many a lutnrc pair ; 
The gray send la*; on wood and crag:, 

Dissolving in tlie pnrjile air; 
The sunlii^ht i;loan» on lake and stream, 

Bon«rhs wave, storms l)reak, and still at even 
All c^lnrious hnes the world snIVnse, 

Heaven mantle earth, earth melt in heaven! 

Nations shall pass like sninnirr's ixi-ass, 

And times unborn p^row old and change; 
New governments and gi-eat events 

Siiall rise, and science new and strange; 
Yet will thy gaze confront the days 

With its eternal calm and ])aticncc, 
The evening red still light thy head, 

Above thee burn the constellations, 

silent speech, that well can teach 
The little worth of words or fame! 

1 go my way, but thou wilt stay 
"V^liilc future millions pass the same: 

But what is this I seem to mij-s ? 

Those features fall into confusion ! 
A further pace — where was that face? 

The veriest fugitive illusion I 

Gray eidolon ! so quickly gone, 

AMicn eves that make thee onward move; 


Whose vast pretence of pennuuence 

A little progress can dis])rove ! 
Like some huge wraith of liumaii faith 

That to the mind takes form and measure; 
Grim iiionohtli of creed or mvtli, 

Outlined against the eternal azure ! 

O Titan, how dislimned art thou! 

A withered clilf is all we see; 
That giant nose, that grand repose, 

Have in a moment ceased to be; 
Or still depend on lines that blend, 

On merging shapes, and sight, and distance. 

And in the mind alone can hnd 

Imaginary brief existence ! 

Jolui Townsend Trowbridge. 


UPON our loftiest "White Mountain peak, 
Filled with tiie freshness of untainted air, 
We sat, nor cared to listen or to speak 

To one another, for tlie silence there 
Was elorpicnt with God's presence. Not a sound 

Uttered the winds in their unhindered sweep 
Above us througli the heavens. Tlic gulf profound 

Below us seethed with mists, a sullen deep. 
From thawlcss ice-caves of a vast ravine 
Rolled sheeted clouds across the lands unseen. 

How far away seemed all that we had known 
In homelv levels of the cartii beneath. 


AVluTC still our thoughts wcut M-andcriiig — " Turn 
thee ! " Blown 

Apart before us, a dissolving wreath 
Of cloud framed iu a picture on the air: 

The fair long Saco Valley, whence m'c came ; 
The hills and lakes of Ossipee ; and there 

Glinnners the sea ! Some pleasant, well-known name 
With every break to memory hastens back ; 
Monadiiock, — Winnipcsaukcc, — ^lerrimack. 

On widening vistas broader rifts unfold : 

Far oir into the waters of Chami)lain 
Great sunset summits dip their llaming gold; 

There winds the dim Connecticut, a vein 
Of silver on aerial green ; and here. 

The upland street of rural Bethlehem ; 
And there, the roofs of Bethel. Azure-clear 

SInmmei-s the Androscoggin ; like a gem 
Umbagog glistens ; and Katalulin gleiims • 

Uncertain as a mountain seen in dreams. 

Our own familiar world, not yet half known, 

Nor loved enough, in tints of Paradise 
Lies there before us, now so lovely grown, 

We wonder what strange film was on our eyes 
Ere we climbed hither. But again the cloud, 

Descending, shuts the beauteous vision out ; 
Between us the abysses spread their shroud: 

We arc to earth, as earth to us, a doubt. 
Dear home folk, skyward seeking us, can see 

No crest or crag where pilgrim feet may be. 


Who wliispcrecl unto us of life and dciitli 

As silence closed upon our hearts once more ? 

On heights where angels sit, perhaps a br.^atli 

May clear the separating gulfs ; a door 

May open sometimes betwixt earth and heaven, 
And life's most haunting mystery be shown 

A fog-drift of the mind, scattered and driven 
Before the winds of God : no vague unknown 

Death's dreaded patli, — only a curtained stair ; 

And heaven but earth raised into purer air. 

Lhc>/ Larcom. 


THE pioneer of a great company 
That wait behind him, gazing toward the east, — 
Mighty ones all, down to the nameless least, — 
Though after him none dares to press, where he 
With bent head listens to the minstrelsy 
Of far waves chantnig to .the moon, their priest. 
What phantom rises up from winds deceased? 
What whiteness of the unapproachable sea? 
Hoary Chocorua guards his mystery well : 
He pushes back his fellows, lest they hear 
The haunting secret he apart must tell 
To his hme self, in the sky-silence clear. 
A shadowy, cloud-cloaked wraith, with shoulders bowed, 
He steals, conspicuous, from the mountain-crowd. 

Luci/ Larcom. 



SO lovinp:ly the clouds caress liis head, — 
Tlie mountain-monarch ; he, severe and liard, 
With white face set like flint horizon-ward ; 
Tlicy weavini^ softest fleec? of irold and red. 
And ijossamer of airiest silver thread, 
To Mra]) liis form, wind-beaten, thunder-scarred. 
Tlioy linger tenderly, and fain would stay, 
Since lie. earth-rooted, may not float away. 
He upward looks, hut moves not; wears their hues; 
Dniws them unto himself; their beauty shares; 
And sometimes his own semblance seems to lose, 
His grandeur and their trniec so interfuse ; 
And when his aiii^els leave him unawares, 
A sullcu rock, his brow to heaven he bares. 

Lncij Larcow. 


ELEVEN years, and two fair months beside, 
Full to the brim with various love and joy. 
My life has known since last I drew apart 
Into this linc^e sky-shoulderinG: mountain dome. 
And, listeninix, heard the winds among the pines 
Making a music as of countless choirs, 
Chanting in sweet and solemn unison ; 
And, standing here where God's artificers, 
Angels of frost and fire and sun and storm, 
Have made a floor with nameless gems inlaid. 


SaAY, like a roof, the slopes of living greeii 

Go cleaving down to meet the lower hills, — 

rirni-buttressed walls, their bases overgrown 

With meadow-sweet and ferns and tangled vines, 

And all that makes the roadsides beautiful ; 

AVhile, all around me, other domes aros3, 

Girded with towers and eager pinnacles, 

Into the silent and astonished air. 

Full oft, since then, up-looking from below, 

As naught to me has been ths pleasantness 

Of meadows broad, and, mid thein, llowing wide 

The Androscoggin's dark empurpled stream, 

Enamored of thine awful loveliness, 

Thy draperies of forests overspread 

With shadows and with silvery, shining mists, 

Thy dark ravines and cloud-couversing top, 

Where it would almast seem that one might hear 

The talk of angels in the happy blue ; — 

And so, in truth, my heart has heard to-day. 

Dear sacred Mount, not thine alone the charm 
By which thou dost so overmaster me, 
But something in thy lover's beating heart, 
Something of memories vague and fond and sweet, 
Something of what he cannot be again. 
Something of sharp regret for vanished joys, 
And faces that he may no more bch jld, 
And voices that he listens for in vain, 
And feet whose welcome sound he hears no more. 
And hands whose touch cDuld make his being thiuU 
With love's dear rapture of delicious pain, — 


Somciiiiiig of all the years that he has lived, 
Of all the joy and sorrow he has known, 
Since lirst with caliper feet and heart allame 
He struggled up thy steep and shaggy sides, 
Sun-decked, leaf-shaded realms of life in death, 
And stood, as now, upon thy topmost crest, 
Trcnihling with joy and tender unto tears; — 
Something of all these things mingles with thee, — 
Green of thy leaves and M'hileness of thy clouds. 
Rush of thy streams and rustic of thy pines, — 
With all thy strcngtii and all thy tenderness. 
Till thou art loved not for thyself alone. 
But for the love of many who are gone, 
Aud most of all for one who still remains 
To make all sights more fair, all s(junds more sweet. 
All life more dear and glad and wonderful. 
* * * 

John While Chad wick. 


QUEEN of the clouds! afar from crowds 
Thou reigiiest all alone, 
In solitude which few intrude 
To bow at thy high throne. 

On cither hand the mountains gi-and 

Their giant shoulders lift 
To bear thee up like God's sweet cup. 

Brimmed with his precious gift ! 


Shrilled mid the liauiits of Alpine plants 
That wreathe thy rocky rim, 

Like clustered vines the graver twines 
About the beaker's brim, 

"With what deliglit I cauglit the sight 

Of thee I came to seek, 
At peace and rest beneath the crest 

Of Monroe's splintered peak; 

Where naught is heard of beast or bird 

Save the lone eagle's cry, 
Whose lordly flight eludes the sight. 

Lost in the deepeuing sky ; 

And Mhere no sound disturbs the round 

Of thy unruffled sleep, 
But bolts that flash and roar and crash 

And leap from steep to steep. 

O, what an hour to feel His power 
Who said, and it was done ; 

And huge and vast these hills stood fast, 
Eternal as the sun ! 

By thy low i)rink I knelt to drink 

Thy waters clear and cold, 
As the last ray that shuts the day 

Flushed thy fair taee with gold. 

Below in light the valley briglit 
In softened beaut v shone, 


While o'er mo rose in grand repose 
The dome of "Washington. 

The soft green moss I stept across 

With wary feet and shiw, 
Crept in and ont and all about 

The shattered rocks below; 

And wee bright flowers tlu'ough sun and showers 

Peered out with sparkling eyes, 
As in the wild sonje unkempt child 

Looks up in sliy surprise. 

lovely lake, for thy sweet sake 

The powers of earth and air. 
That desolate all else, create 

Tor thee a garden fair^ 

That mid the breath of gloom and death 

Seems let down from above 
To give us cliecr whoro all is drear. 

Like God's abounding love. 

Mid city heats I tread the streets 

And think of thee afar, 
As of one gone whose love beams on 

Like light from some lost star. 

mighty mount, O crystal fount, 

O hills and lakes and streams, 
How dear thou art to all my heart. 

How near in all my dreams. 

* * * 

Henry Henderson. 

278 POEMS or places. 

Winnipesaukee, the Lake, N. H. 



WHITE clouds, whose sliadoM's liaunt tlie drop, 
Light mists, whose soft embraces keep 
The suusliiiie on the hills asleep! 

O isles of calm ! — dark, still wood ! 
Ami stiller skies that overbrood 
Your rest with deeper quietude ! 

shapes and hues, dim bcekouiug, through 
You mouutuiu gaps, my longing view 
Beyond the purple and the blue, 

To stiller sea and greener land. 

And softer lights and airs more bland, 

And skies, — the hollow of God's hand ! 

Transfused through you, moiiniaiu friends! 
With mine your solcnni si)irit blends, 
And life no more hath separate ends. 

1 read each misty mountain sign, 

I know the voice of wave and pine, 
And I am yours, and ye are mine. 

Life's burdens fall, its discords cease, 

I lapse into the glad release 

Of Nature's own exceeding peace. 


welcome calm of heart ami mind ! 
As falls you lir-trec's loosened rind 
To leave a tenderer growth behind. 

So fall the weary years away; 
A cliild again, my licad 1 lay 
Uj)on the lap of this sweet day. 

This western wind hath Lethean powers, 
Yon noonday cloud nepenthe showers, 
The lake is white with lotus-llowers ! 

Even Duty's voice is faint and low, 

And slumberous Conscience, Making .slow. 

Forgets her blotted scroll to show. 

The Shadow which pursues us all. 
Whose cvcr-nearing steps appall, 
Whose voice we hear behind us call, — 

That Shadow blends with mountain gray, 
It speaks but what the light waves say, — 
Death walks apart from Fear to-day ! 

Rocked on her breast, these pines and I 
Alike on Nature's love rely ; 
And equal seems to live or die. 

Assured that He whose presence fdls 
Witli light the spaces of these hills 
No evil to his creatures wills. 

The simple faitli remains, that He 
Will do, whatever that may be. 
The best alike for man and tree. 


Wliiit mosses over one s1i:ill grow, 
Wliat liglit and life tlic otlicr know, 
Unanxious, Icavino: Him to show. 


Yon monntain's side is black with night, 
While, broad-orbad, o'er its gleaming crown 

The moon, slow-ronnding into sight. 
On the hnshcd inland sea looks down. 

How start to light the clustering isles, 
Each silver-liemmed ! How sharply show 

The shadows of their rocky piles. 
And tree-tops in the wave below ! 

How far and strange the mountains seem. 
Dim-looming through the pale, still light! 

The vague, vast grouping of a dream. 
They stretch into the solemn night. 

Beneaili, lake, wood, and peopled vale, 
Hushed by that presence grand and grave, 

Are silent, save the cricket's wail, 
And low response of leaf and wave. 

Pair scenes ! whereto the Day and Night 
Make rival love, I leave ye soon, 

What time before the eastern light 
The pale ghost of tlie setting moon 

Shall hide behind yon rocky spines, 
And the young archer. Morn, shall break 


His arrows on llic mouutaiii pines, 
And, goldcn-sandalicd, walk the lake ! 

Farewell I around this smiling bay 

Gay-hearted Health, and Life in bloom, 

With lighter steps than mine, may stray 
In radiant summers yet lo come. 

But none shall more regretful leave 
These waters and these hills than I: 

Or, distant, fonder dream how eve 
Or dawn is painting wave and sky; 

How rising moons shine sad and mild 
On wooded isle and silvering bay ; 

Or setting suns beyond the piled 
And purple mountains lead the day ; 

Nor laughing girl, nor bearding boy, 
Nor full-pulsed manhood, lingering here. 

Shall add, to life's abounding joy, 
The charmed repose to suffering dear. 

Still waits kind Nature to impart 

Her ehoiecst gifts to such as gain 
An entrance to her loving heart 

Through the sharp discipline of paiii. 

For ever from the Hand that takes 

One blessing from ns others fall ! 
And, soon or late, our Father makes 

His perfect recompense to all ! 


watched by Silence and the Night, 
And folded in the strong embrace 

Of the great mountains, with the light 
Of the sweet heavens upon thy face. 

Lake of the Northland ! keep thy dower 

Of beauty still, and while above 
Thy solemn mountains speak of power. 

Be thou the mirror of God's love, 

John Greenleaf Whittier. 


WE saw in the distance the dusky lake fade. 
Empurpled with twilight's last tinges ; 
And slow came the Night, with her curtains of shade, 

And the round rosy moon in their fringes. 
We marked in tlie sky, in the cloud-lakes on high, 

The flocks of l3irds dreamily saihng 
Erom the peaks in the West, and settle to rest 
Where the forest light slowly was failing, 
Round bright Alton Bay. 

Mist curtained the mountains, — we climbed the dark 

But a feeling of sadness came o'ci' us. 
As we saw on the hillsides the camp-meeting lights, 

And heard the lone worshippers' chorus — 
"It is well with my soul ! " — how it echoed afar 

O'er the lake in the deep mountain shadows. 
While bright in the sky shone the evening star 

O'er the lonely lake islands and meadows 
Af still Alton Bay. 


I knew not tl»c .siiigrrs. their creeds or their nnn. s 

I heard but the chorus ascending, 
\\ • ' ' ' ' ii^'h the piues shone tlie night-loniitvs 
> s 

With the rays of the shaded moon bhMuliug; 
A .<! 1 said on that night, as I stoml oit the heiglit, 

Wheu time n»eaMin> mv j«>v and my sorn)W, 
My life I wouhl eloM« as the hinls Mrk rei)08C, 

To dream of a iM*autiful morrow 
At dim Alton Kay. 

Then we talketl of the main, and its night-darkened 
Of the ?^we<'t pmycr of trust on the billows ; 

The wor>hip|»«rs' sirtin rixiiii; sweet in the fane 

In the \ale liv Hir <m.(»1 \ill.ii:e willows; 
The eathedrars aisle dim, the antiphonal liynin, 

The iKiptismal vow at the fountain : 
Yet more grand seemed the woni that onr eharnuil 
ears hail lieanl — 
■ It is well with my soul!" — on the mountain, 
At calm Alton Kiy. 

Mom lighted the bay, our boat pliiled away, 

But the fair lake I sec as a vision ; 
And in dn^ms hearairain tlie lone camp-meeting's strain 

Like a call fn)m the p<»rtals elysian. 
When the shade of the past siiall he lengtliened ;it l;i-t. 

\nd the earth light around me is paling, 
May some holy song's breath on the mountain <! laim 

Turn my heart to the Refuge unfailing, 
• As at far Alton Bay. 

Ilezekiah Butter worth. 



SILENT liills across the lake. 
Asleep in moonlight, or awake 
To catch the color of the sky, 
That sifts through every cloud swept by, — 
How beautiful ye are, in cliange 
Of sultry haze and storm-light strange; 
How dream-like rest ye on the bar 
That parts the billow from the star; 
How blend your mists with waters clear, 
Till earth floats off, and heaven seems near. 

Ye faint and fade, a pearly zone. 
The coast-line of a land unknown. 
Yet that is sunburnt Ossipee, 
Plunged knee-deep in the limpid sea: 
Somewhere among these grouping isles. 
Old White-race from his cloud-cap smiles, 
And gray Chocorua bends his crown, 
To look on happy hamlets down ; 
And every pass and mountain-slope 
Leads out and on some human hope. 

Here the great hollows of the hills 
The glamour of the June day fills. 
Aloug the climbiug path the brier, 
In rose-bloom beauty beckoning liigher. 
Breathes sweetly the warm uplands ovet 
And, gay with Ijuttereups and clover. 


The slopes of meadowy tVeslmess make 
A grceu foil to the sparkling lake. 

So is it with vou hills that swim 
Upon the horizon, blue and dim: 
For all the summer is not ours ; 
On other shores familiar flowers 
Find blossoming as frcsli as these, 
In sliade and shine and eddying breeze; 
And seentcd slopes as cool and green, 
To kiss of lisping ripples lean. 

* * * 

Lnri/ Larcom. 

Woon.^orJccf, 7?. /. 


THE earth, this beautiful summer's day, 
Is in perfect time w^ith the blue of the sky. 
And the fleecy white of the clouds that play 
On the wings of the amorous zephyr's ^igh. 

My errant fancy has led me here, 

To the highest point of "Woonsocket's crest. 

In this sweetest season of the year 

When fields and woods are in verdure dressed. 

I left the valley far, far behind, 
As ever upward the pathway led, 


Past gray stouc-walls M'here the ivy tAvined, 
And the ehns a grateful coolness shed ; 

Past tlie farm-house old, 'ueath the sycamore, 
With its well-curb aged and moss o'ergrown, 

And the broad flat stones before the door, 
Wearing slow as tlie years have flown; 

Till at last I have reached the highest peak 
And before me the landscape stretches wide, 

And eastward or westward the eye may seek 
Yet find no bound to restrain its pride. 

Southeastward a line of darker hue 
Than the sky that meets it, far away. 

Tells that there are dancing the wavelets blue 
On the bosom of Narragansett Bay. 

On the left Wachuset, showing dim 

Through wreaths of vapor that round it fold, 

Crowns with its dome the horizon's rim. 
Like some eastern temple, grand and old. 

While nearer, along the valleys green, 
J'ull many a village meets the eye, 

And here and there the silver sheen 
Of a brooklet mirrors the arching sky. 

What pleasure it is to linger here, 

Through the summer hours so warm and bright, 
Watching the landscape, far and near, 

Framed in the sunshine golden light ! 
* * * 

John L. Oshorne. 

YORK. 2S7 

York, Me, 


Sir Ferdinando GoRnF.N looked with special interest upon the pleas- 
antly located little setllenient of Ajranienticus. On tin- Jiist of Mafcii, 
16t-, he erccteil the iHiroii-^'li into a city, exteniliiijj tlie charter over a 
region cnibmcing twenty-one square miUrs. This forest city was on the 
north side of the river, and extended seven miles hack from the river's 

WHERE rises graiul, majestic, tall, 
As in a dream, tlic toweriiii,' wall 
That scorns the restless, surging tide. 
Once spanned tiie mart and street and mall, 
And arched the trees on every side 
Of this great city, once in pride. 
For hither came a knightly train 

From o'er the sea with gorgeous court; 
The mayors, gowned in robes of state. 
Held brilliant tourney on the plain, 
And massive ships within the port 

Discharged their load of richest freight. 
Then when at night, the sun gone down 

Behind the western hill and tree, 
The bowls were filled, — this toast they crowni, 
" Long live the City by the Sea ! " 

Now sailless drift the lonely seas, 
No shallops load at wharves or quays, 

But hulks are strewn along the shore, — 
Gaunt skeletons indeed are these 

That lie enchanted bv the roar 

288 I'oKMS or places. 

Of ocean Avave and sigiiiiig trees ! 
Oil, tell iiic Avliere the i)omiJOus squires, 

The cliaut at eve, the matin prayers. 
The knights in armor for the fray ? 
The mayors, where, and courtly sires, 

The eager traders with their wares, — 
How went these people hence away ? 
And when the evenhig sun sinks down, 

"Weird voices come from hill and tree. 

Yet tell no tales, — this toast they crown, 

" Long live the Spectre by the Sea ! " 




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